The Akhlys Hour
by Servant of Fire
Summary: <html><head></head>The 4th "Major- verse", but can be read alone. 2 weeks after the events of "Baskerville Island", Greg's soon to be ex-wife mysteriously disappears. Sherlock takes the case ,knowing from the outset that something is terribly wrong. When it becomes evident that Greg's wife is trying to kill him, Sherlock will have to find out why, before the stroke of "Akhlys Hour".</html>
1. Chapter 1 The Song of Fallen Angels

** Chapter 1: The Song of Fallen Angels~**

The sundown bleeds through the windows of Baker Street, and for a moment it is as if Midas has spilled his blood into their living room, and Sherlock Holmes and John Watson stand baptised in light, in the middle of some very pressing debate about something, oblivious to their surroundings, unaware of the wealth of light they are cast in, anointed in liquid gold.

"So you see ,John, it couldn't have been the butcher's dog, because the dog was at the groomers at that time. So, they had to have planted the poison on one of the pets...but which one, WHICH ONE?"

Sherlock is pacing madly about the room, where as John stands still like stone, fist to his chin like the marble-cast "Thinker", an anchor for Sherlock, in the world that has spun about them in a burning orbit of ruin for too long.

It is roughly 2 weeks after their excursion in the Caribbean, being abducted by pirates, and their mutual near-death experience that John has written down for his blog as "Baskerville Island", but never posted, as he was no longer allowed to post anything about Sherlock, being that, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was still dead and gone.

But life had gone on, as it had always done, in sleep-walking London. The ever busy, criminally active City, that always seemed so oblivious, to Sherlock and John anyway, as to the true drama that went on in the world.

For in the end murder hadn't been in the hearts of cloak-and-dagger villains, and street-corner "Jack the Ripper" types, like John used to believe. No, it had been lying in the hearts of close-of-kin, of people one knew, of people one trusted...Sometimes even in the hearts of people one loved. This was the real drama, forsaking all "Hollywood", "who-done-it" glory! John had known it all too well, in the discovery that the man who had raised him was actually his uncle posing as his twin-brother, John's real father, that he had murdered for jealousy.

And thank God that Sherlock and John had been extremely busy with a sudden influx of little puzzles these last 2 weeks, (never mind that they were still recovering from electric shock) because the initial pain of this domestic betrayal, of learning that his real Dad was dead, of dealing with the experience of being clinically dead for ,as Molly later reported it, around 20 minutes ( a lot less than Sherlock's 1 day and 10 hours after he fell from St. Bart's...John was amazed that this was the SECOND time Sherlock had come back via Lazarus syndrome) and dealing with... well... the experience as a whole, the having been captured and drugged and severally dehydrated... Dealing with the very recent execution of his Uncle Sal, that he had believed since he was in primary school was actually his cruel father that had disowned him...It was all just a little too much for him. Had he not had the puzzles, and ever-vibrant Sherlock keeping him on his toes, he would probably have slipped into a series of black moods, that he might not have risen up from for months ,or even years.

Sherlock. John smiled at him as he spun about the room, long dark coat flapping like a raven's wings, chattering, still on the hunt.

John was speechless, letting the "bloodhound" follow the scent on his own, just content ,for now, to watch him. To be able to lay eyes on him, now, after his not once, but _twice_ death,(this second time having clinically died with him) was an absolute ,and unlooked for, miracle. John was dumbstruck, mortally stricken, platonicly, maddeningly, head-over-heels, or whatever in love with this raving lunatic! Sherlock would say "highly functioning sociopath" but John had written that off as a fancy way of explaining to people that he was completely bonkers, and absurdly ok with it.

"THE PARROT!" Sherlock boomed.

"Sorry?" John gasped, drawn out his thoughts about the last 2 weeks, about their entires lives, too quickly, like when one is constrained to step out of a hot bath and into a cold room.

"THE PARROT, JOHN! It had to have been the parrot! The pork's blood was on its talons, but there were no bloody little bird footprints. It's blatantly obvious, so obvious that I even missed it! Yes, we have a criminal genius on our hands. Not the butcher...no, but the butcher's wife, the veterinarian, wanting to kill her husband in a more satisfactory way than murder. Wanting to see him _hanged _for murder, framed, falsely accused, astounding reputation as a moonlight clergy man destroyed, and then snuffed! My phone! Gah, where did I-, need to text Gavin, tell him it's the woman he needs to bring in..."

On went the chattering. John smiled at him, gone light in the head. To think the world was 1 day ,10 hours, and 20 minutes absent of _him_. The thought made John feel like he needed to sit down, so he did.

Suddenly there were footsteps on the stairs.

"Sherlock? There's no need to text Greg; he's here!"John called from the living room, where he had sunk up to his shoulders in his arm-chair.

Sherlock bounded into the room, as eager as a young wolf does after his prey, eyes shining like the eyes of young wolves do in the dark, hair looming about his face, wildly tousled like the night in its wind. John laughed in delight. To be so in love with the very spirit of the Dark, was a strange phenomenon. To be saved by the sword of damnation, the greatest irony the world had ever witnessed. It was the story of Doctor John Watson's life, and, despising all the pain that had penned it in despair's black ink, he was proud to call it his own.

Sherlock was smiling eagerly, toothily, blood-thirsty young wolf, eager for the drink that would ease the pain in his throat. Now he would get his blood, now he would expose the truth, and justice would reign.

"It was the parrot! -The veterinarian wife of the Butcher/Cleric? , arrest her, she's the one who murdered their 4 -year- old granddaughter, for the sole purpose of revenge against his hypocritical ways. Practically human sacrifice, was a marvellous case, have any more?"

Greg stood blinking, dumbly. John face-palmed. Lunatic, and a sociopath indeed.

"You mean the kid that...that they...that she...was her _granddaughter?" _Greg gasped.

"Yes. And she killed her ,brutally, not by weapon, but by disease, so that she could frame her husband for it, and see it destroy him. There I solved the case. Now do you have anymore, yes or no?"

Greg stood gaping at Sherlock...and John cleared his throat.

Sherlock turned to look at him with an air of innocence that made it impossible to stay angry and offended with him forever. He blinked,

"Oh, yeah...It's...probably a bit...uhmm...upsetting...what happened to the little girl, isn't it?"

Greg and John nodded, patiently, and Sherlock waved a hand in the air looking for words...

"I ...well...it's...not good...Sorry?"

They smiled, and he smiled back, thinking that he must have said the right thing, that time anyway.

"Actually, I really do have another case for you...A personal one."

"Wonderful!" Sherlock laughed. John yawned.

"Have a seat ,Greg, you've had a long day. I'll call us in something to eat, is every body ok with that Thai place?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but Greg smiled, and thanked John who momentarily disappeared from the room, gone to ask Major if he was ok with Thai too. Major Sholto had lived with them on Baker Street, in 221 C, since Sherlock had proved his innocence in the fire-fight tragedy, and was their self-appointed body-guard. He was currently down-stairs "pumping iron" trying to unwind from today's events, unable to keep up with swift Sherlock.

"Your wife..." Sherlock said, out-of-the-blue, taking his seat.

Greg smiled, "Yeah, you never can just wait for _me _ to tell the story, can you?"

"Why would I? It saves a lot of time if I just observe you. Your wife...soon to be ex-wife if she has her way...has disappeared...And because you still love her, you are concerned. No, she hasn't run away with a lover, you have reason to believe it is something more sinister than that...Am I right?"

Greg smiled, "I'm...glad...that I've got you on my team."

"So am I. You'd be lost without me."

John came back in the room, laughing. He was right of course, he just didn't need to say it.

"Easy, mate...Get any more modest, and we might be able to put your picture in the paper." he laughed, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder firmly, and sitting down beside him.

"Picture...modest?"

"It's a joke, Sherlock! A _bloody _joke! Honestly!" Greg teased, and John shifted in his seat.

"Yes. I know it's a joke, but what does it mean?" Sherlock asked, brows twisting in what looked like almost painful puzzlement.

Greg rolled his eyes. John was more patient.

"Well, if you were more quote/unquote "modest", the word "modest" has a two-fold meaning, and the other meaning of the word is to cover one's self, so I meant that if you were more "modest" you could appear in the paper without giving His Majesty Queen of England a heart attack!"

Sherlock sniffed, at the reference to Mycroft.

"I don't need greater modesty. I just need a sheet. His Majesty might be less inclined to have his people come and abduct me if I wound up in the papers dressed like that."

They all started laughing but then Greg's face took on a dark look.

"His wife-soon-ex has mysteriously disappeared, not with a lover, but in a more macabre fashion. Hasn't told me the rest, and I haven't observed any farther, though it's been tempting, because he wanted to "tell" the story." Sherlock practically hissed, impatiently trying to force himself not to "see" said story. Really and truly trying to level with his "human" friends. They were flattered.

"He's right, she's gone. Without a reason, without a trace. She said it was going to be months before she started moving out, because her boyfriend was going to help her, and he's in Italy closing the deal on a contract. And then "poof" she's just vanished, no signs of break in, none of her stuff missing, nothing that mighta told me he'd come back for her early. In fact, the only thing that WAS different about my house this afternoon ,when I went home for a nap, was that, beside our bed, there's always been this little angel statue, that her grandmother gave to her, I think. It usually stands up, is made like that, real tall and skinny and has folded hands like its praying or something...Well...today...I find it on its face. And the alarm clock is going off , turned up crazy loud. She's gone. No reason why. Just that statue on its face, like a bad omen. Gives me the creeps..."

"Right because you still love her, and you don't want anything bad to happen to her. Don't worry about possible abduction, she wasn't. She has left of her own volition, and since there are no signs of the business man lover, it tells me that she is most likely cheating on both of you, and had a rendezvous with the third-party. What does the third-party want? That's what we have to solve for; we'll have your reason before 20 hundred hours , Gavin, not to worry."

"Cheating...on BOTH." Greg's eyes went wide, and he looked off into space, visibly saddened.

John could have punched Sherlock then, but Mrs. Hudson was bringing their food upstairs, and food was the only thing that John could focus on, when it was physically present. He might punch Sherlock later. Maybe...

Sherlock stared off into space himself. Honestly, so blunt as he is, he never says the entirety of what he's thinking, his mind is too complex for that. Something about this situation was very troubling, even to him, which is why he had decided himself, no need to be talked into it, that this was more than a cheating scandal, and that he needed to take the case, even if it was as short-lived as 20 hundred hours tonight...


	2. Chapter 2 Played By Sirens

** Chapter 2: Played By Sirens~**

20 hundred hours came and went, and still the "bloodhound" had found no traces in the Lestrade house but a scent of "Claire de la Lune" that was slightly amiss.

"Not the answer you were looking for, but something to go on..." Sherlock said, regretfully, taking a test swipe of the "Claire de la Lune" traces they had found on the pillow, to run through his chemistry set when he and John got back to Baker Street. John was giving him the Look. The Look that meant he knew that he saw right through that iced-over mask that Sherlock was wearing for Greg, saw the troubled waters churning beneath the frozen silver-green eyes.

"Well, It's...s'alright...I mean, I know you'll figure it out pretty quickly...And she's leaving me anyway..." Greg began, with a wistful half smirk, "Maybe it's none of my business?"

Sherlock swallowed. John titled his chin, watching him closely. Sometimes Sherlock felt like one of his test-strips under the microscope when John was watching him. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, but it was a tiny bit intimidating to have someone who could see as clearly through him as he saw through every one else.

"You have every right to be concerned about her. She was _your _wife first, you know." Sherlock said, meeting John's eyes.

John nodded, "But for right now, you need some sleep, doctor's orders. You won't be of much use in finding her if you don't get any rest." John said, and with that they said their evening goodbyes, and Sherlock and John headed off into the night, walking home so they could talk.

"So, you gonna tell me what all that was about?"

"All what was about?"

"The way your face was all pinched together when we found the perfume..."

Sherlock thrust his hands into his coat pockets...not so sure how to tell John this.

First he needed to see how much he remembered. About their lives before they met in the lab of St. Bart's. About before when they had been boys in school, training for military jobs, in the days when they had met in another lab, and Sherlock had been John's boy-genius lab instructor. About after that, their early days as an army-medic, and a military police consulting detective. About their first year in Afghanistan.

"How much...do you remember...about the days of our mutual military service?..." Sherlock began, carefully, wading into the troubled waters that were about to rise in their minds.

"I've recovered most of my memory ,there's only a few things Mycroft says are "off". But what's that got to do with anything?"

Sherlock got very quiet. And John began to feel a sickness in the pit of his stomach, the feeling you get when you already know there's something you don't want to remember, before you actually do conjure up the memory.

"Do you recall...any of the details...surrounding Mary Morstan?"

And then, like a train colliding with the heart of the moon, there she was again, before John's waking eyes, the first and last woman he had truly "fallen in love" with.

"_Hmmm...Someone's got her eye on you, Doctor."_

_John is standing in the shadows with Sherlock, at some party they were throwing for the officers on the home front. A dance before they all deployed. This was before Major Sholto was partially crippled, and he was currently spinning a ginger dizzyingly around the room. _

_The pretty blonde nurse closer to John's age (Sherlock was only 19 at the time, whereas John was 3 years older, so he was 22) was standing across the room, in her dress uniform, a little white hat cocked on top of her bobbed off hair. She was adorable, and John was trying not to look._

_"Shut up. I'm not -technically- a doctor yet. And anyway, that's Mike Stamford's girl."_

_"No, that WAS Mike Stamford's girl. But Mike is as quick to find a new female companion as he is to find the dessert table. Mmm,...he and Mycroft will make good friends!" _

_John laughed, almost snorting the punch he was drinking. He turned to say something to Sherlock, but Sherlock had folded his knobby elbowed arms, and his attention was fully engaged with someone else._

_John turned around, and bumped into the blonde._

_"Oh, sorry!" she cried, and John gasped, and started wildly apologizing, and Sherlock sniffed a soft, 'I told you so' sort of sniff, and went to confront Mycroft at the punch bowl._

_"No, really, sorry! I just actually came to say 'Hello'." said the girl, and she smiled, a foxy sort of smile, that melted John right where he was standing._

_"Well...hello." John gasped, wondering if his tongue had fallen out of his mouth. She smiled, and wrinkled her nose._

_"Well..."_

_"Well?"_

_"Got a name?"_

_John laughed because that's almost exactly what he had said to Sherlock when they had met about 3 years ago at school._

_"John. Sorry...there's..HUNDREDS of "Johns", uhmm, John Watson. I'm Donald Watson's son."_

_"Am I supposed to know who Donald Watson is?" _

_That remark was what did it for John. At the time he still believed that his Uncle Sal was actually his dad, Donald, though really he was his twin brother, and had murdered him, and had been trying to pass himself off as him for many years, jealous of his brother's rank, and wanting to prove he could be in that rank himself. Solomon was so abusive of John as to make him almost despise him, and so, any one who put his dad off as not being so important as he wanted everyone to believe he was, somehow vindicated John, and he instantly loved them for it._

_"Thought it would help tell me apart from all the blokes named John? It's really too common a name. My best mate over there- the tall and dark one?- his name is Sherlock. Now where in blazes did his mum find a name __like that?"_

_She smiled. "Nah, don't feel bad. My name is Mary. And there are as many girls named "Mary" as there are blokes named "John". So that's Mary Morstan to you." she held out a hand, and John kissed it. She laughed._

_"Oh, sorry, you just wanted to shake , didn't you? I ..well...people...used to kiss a lady's hand. It seems only right since we probably will never see each other again."_

_"Well,...maybe not,...if not for the fact that I am being deployed tomorrow too. And since I report to you almost exclusively for "orders" or some rubbish, then I thought I might as well come make friends..."_

_John was in love the moment he laid eyes on her. The thought that she was going to be with him in Afghanistan excited him and scared him senseless all at once. He immediately felt a need to protect her, and Sherlock both. It was a strange paradox, having the one's you loved with you in danger. You were glad and extremely angry they were in that mess, but with you, all at once._

"Oh God...yes..."John hissed suddenly, "Well, no, not until now anyway...But now..now that you said...Yes. Yes I do."

"Then...you remember...that we met Irene Adler before "A Scandal in Belgravia" too, don't you?"

John felt like he was being compressed into an ice cube, suddenly so heavy was his sorrow...

"...Yes..." he whispered and closed his eyes.

_"This new perfume...I like it..." John laughed, kissing Mary for the fifth time, since they had ducked off into this edge of the tent, work for today actually done, bloodied and battered soldiers sleeping contentedly about them._

_"How in blazes did you get perfume anyway? We're in the middle of a war-zone!" he gasped, kissing her a sixth and seventh time._

_Mary pushed John off, with a gentle laugh. "I made a friend from the 'Outside'."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Yeah...She works for the government. One of Mycroft's employees or something. She's supposed to be working with Sherlock, but she's really getting on his nerves. She's been flirting with him like crazy,and he..well...you know how he is...he doesn't know what to do with it. I think...he might actually ...have sort of ,...in his own weird way...started to like her...but, being like he is, instead of diving in like you,he's being extremely nasty to her."_

_John chuckled. That was Sherlock for you. _

_"Poor sod will never "fall in love"..." he laughed, and kissed Mary an eighth and a ninth time, as if to change the subject._

_Why had a woman given his girlfriend perfume? Did women exchange girly little gifts like that?_

Poor once(and only once!) innocent John! If only he had known! If only he could swallow his words a thousand, thousand, thousand times! For Sherlock did ultimately Fall in love, after all, but it would be a different kind. And in the end, Mary, and the Woman who had given her the perfume, the woman who secretly turned out to be treacherously THE Woman, and had caused Mary to fall in love with her, would be the one's to blame.

For they were the very ones who had sold Sherlock to Moriarty the first time. They were the dynamic duo of deception, the conjoint grand architect of the Final Betrayal.

A year before the "Sholto's Boys" murder, when Moriarty and Sebastian Moran enacted their little plan, Mary and Irene betrayed Sherlock and John, taking off their masks to reveal the she wolves that had been wrapped in the woolen veils they had pulled over their once boyish eyes for too long.

_ It was late at night. Off in the distance, there was a War going on. But here in this tucked off alley of an Afghani village, here was only the moans of the dying. They called out to John like sirens, and the young medic was compelled to come._

_That's when he felt Mycroft's ambassador, whose job never really made clear sense to John, Irene Adler, who Mary had been spending every moment of her precious and rare downtime with for the last God-knows-how long, leap from the shadows, and onto his back,using the weight of his gear against him, forcing him to his knees,and holding a sharp piece of bombed car shrapnel like a knife to his throat._

_"Oh, hello John!" she said ,courteously, "Glad it's you...If it was someone else, I'd have to kill you. But seeing as it is you...I would rather that you saw it."_

_"What the-?!"_

_John never finished what he was saying. _

_Because there was a choking sound, and he saw the silhouette of a tall, dark man in the shadow of the wall, a figure standing over him, pulling a needle out of his heart._

_"Direct injection. You might die from it...You'd best hope for your sake, that you do..."said Mary._

_John's heart stopped._

_As Mary Morstan drug none other than Sherlock Holmes into the light, by his gasping-for-breath-and-dying-the-same throat._

_"On your knees. Right where I like you...Want you to look me in the eye..."_

_She let go of Sherlock, and Sherlock wheezed, and got up on his knees, giving her a cold look of utter hate. Of sadness as well, because John was just about to ask Mary to marry him. If and when they made it home of course._

_"Mary?" John gasped, and Irene let the jagged metal "dagger" bite him a bit. He hissed, and clenched his teeth._

_"No, it's not "Mary" you pathetic fool!...I knew it would work, the whole game of love. WE knew it would work, didn't we, baby?"_

_"What are you talking about?!" John cried._

_"Sorry, 'baby' is me, not you." Irene laughed. "And yes, doll, yes we did."_

_"...I think I'm going to vomit." Sherlock mocked._

_"Better hope you can, for your own sake, Sherlock. 'Akhlys' works fast. Which is good for us, because we need to get you off of our scent FAST." Mary jeered._

_"Wait, what the HELL is going on? You two are?-"John cried, confused._

_"Gay? Yes. We've been together since before you and I met ,John." Mary mocked, and laughed bitterly, "It's sad isn't it? You two fools thought we really loved you? That we were all gonna go home, have a big splashy double wedding...live a fairytale ending."_

_"Maybe John thought that; I never could get Sherlock to go so far as to kiss me." Irene teased, and Sherlock gave a sudden irritated cry._

_"Oh, rubbish! That's all "love" is anyway. No, no, and no, I never fell for it! I was just playing the Game with you. Looks like this is losing..."_

_"We'll give you the honor of show-and-tell seeing as you lost." Mary hissed, with an emphasis on the last word. "And then I'm going to kill you ,Sherlock. I'm going to shoot you through your heart."_

_Sherlock swallowed, looking apologetically at John, whose lips were quivering, trying to process what he was hearing._

_"You are part of an organization chiefly operated by women, that has no clear alias as you are always changing the name of it, but is most commonly known as the 'Pandora Pact'. It was convened during the Victorian period, by wives of members of the Illuminati, and the purpose of your work is to slowly disband the existing governments to found a one world dominating power. End all wars. Stop hunger. All that charity rubbish, you claim, but really you just like the thought of world domination. And how you mean to achieve this goal, is by enlisting in integral careers of secret intelligence and military security, and then sabotaging said career with a series of complex betrayals. You are a master assassin ,under cover as an army nurse, Mary Morstan is not your name. And you...are actually a master criminal and a prostitute...you do favors for powerful men, to get your way. Like a spider,...or a more or less a vampire bat."Sherlock hissed, glaring at Irene._

_"Mmm...you are a powerful man...But you never needed any favors...So, since I can't use you...I'll just have to eliminate you. I'll have my top gun do that for me." _

_Mary cocked her pistol, and shot Sherlock in the foot for emphasis. He didn't cry out, but his mouth did fall open in a pained expression that John would never forget._

_"You were just on the verge of finding out what a terribly naughty compromise we made ,Sherlock!" Mary giggled, shooting Sherlock in the other foot, and this time he groaned, and he did throw up, in the sand beside him. There was a moan of the wounded Afghanis that Mary had shot to draw John's attention to them._

_"You were just about to discover which devil we let out of the bag! We put him on the map; we were his sponsors first, and he will turn around and be the sponsor for us one day when he's King. And it's a sad thing, that,there were so many lives you could have saved, if only you could remember us...But you will be lucky if you survive the Akhyls hour."_

_Sherlock looked up at Mary, suddenly mindlessly terrified. _

_"SHERLOCK!" John screamed, as the boy started to froth at the mouth like a dog with rabies._

John couldn't remember anything else. That had been a truly traumatic experience. Sherlock ended up in the medic tent with the rest of the wounded that night, and John ended up sleeping at the foot of his cot.

Mycroft had sent out an assassin of his own to track down the Woman and ,as she was affectionately known by her rouge name, "Pandora" after that.

The names "Mary Morstan" and "Irene Adler" were never spoken again. It had been a superior medical officer's suggestion, as the one time that the names were brought up sent a delirious Sherlock into a manic episode.

John gasped, as the fog of recall lifted, and he realized why Sherlock had brought those old bones up in the first place.

"Claire de La Lune, was Mary's signature perfume. So, you think...the third party that Mrs. Lestrade had the rendezvous with is either Mary or Irene?"

Sherlock swallowed, "It's not just Claire de La Lune. Anybody, including Gavin's wife, could wear it, it's a popular cologne. But you mix the cologne itself with this bitter chemical that has a slight delirient effect if you inhale too much...She's learned how to bottle Baskerville and make as dramatic an exit as she can an entrance. But if she'd had some sort of problem with Mrs. Lestrade, there'd have been a body. So, we can assume...that Lestrade's wife...is working with the Pandora Pact. Against both of her lovers, it seems."

John drew a heavy breath, feeling Greg's pain. And wondering how...for the love of God!, they were going to break the news to him...


	3. Chapter 3 The Game of Turning Tables

**Chapter 3: The Game of Turning Tables~**

Sally Donovan was not an humble woman. But she was a very _desperate _woman this morning, and knew what she had to do.

Which is how she came to be standing by herself in the kitchen of Baker Street, where Sherlock was dozing at his microscope ,having tried all night to find out what the delirient agent was dissolved in Claire de La Lune, and John sat in a kitchen chair beside him, accidentally stirring chlorine tablets into the tea, thinking it was sugar.

"I don't take sugar..right...forgot..." he yawned.

"Ok, so...really, what is your proper name again ,Freak, because I'm going to have to try to talk to you on a one on one sort of level, bad as I hate to." Sally crowed, and Sherlock's eyes shot open.

"FOR GOD'S SAKES!..." he gasped, and then rubbed his hands over his face, "Donovan? It's too early. Leave. Now."

"Greg's been poisoned. Got any idea how that happened? ...Did you have something to do with it?!" Sally hissed, folding her arms.

"Poisoned?" John asked, sitting bolt upright awake. "Oh my God, is he ok?"

"He's at St. James. Stable, but feeling like crap. You were the last people he saw, so, either you have something to do with it...or...you're the only one's who can help me find out what happened to my friend. I'm a police officer. I can arrest you, you know."

Sherlock waved her off, "You'd love to, in fact, you had that done once ,if you recall. I would have thought my dying might have settled the score between us. Congratulations, you've proven me wrong. It doesn't happen often."

Sally's face blanched. Mostly because of the green-shade John turned, remembering that , on top of everything else that he was going through right now.

" I came here...today...thinking...that...Well,...we might not like each other,... matter of fact ,I hate you, but...But Greg is _our _friend, or at least, he's my friend, and your handler."

Sherlock growled at the idea of that, and sat up, suddenly his eyes going wide:

"OF COURSE!"

"What? What is he on about? Is he going to pull more body parts out of your fridge? Oh God, I hate coming here! Never mind, I'll get Anderson to do a forensic sweep of his house!"

"WAIT!" Sherlock gasped, and reached out a single, slender , cold (and rather burned too, Sally just now noticed the gaudy bandages, and wondered what in blazes had happened to Freak now?)hand, and turned her around.

"Sit. Donovan."

"Can you stop talking to me like I'm a dog?"

"That works both ways; stop calling him Freak!" John gasped, annoyed by her presence.

Sherlock held a finger to his lips, "Shh...shh both of you, just, SHUT UP. I think...I might have solved it."

"Oh, so he solved it, just like that, eh? Clearly had something to do with it ,didn't you?!"

"Donovan, shut up. Or rather, use your rather annoying voice for something more productive, and tell me exactly when you came to realize that Greg was poisoned, and what his symptoms are?"

"Well, he didn't come into work this morning. And when I went to see about him, he was lying on his bed, and there was this creepy angel thing he kept poking at, and saying that it made his eyes hurt. His hands had chemical burns on them, and his eyes were swollen and-"

"AHA! That explains why I can't find a poisonous substance in the perfume ,although the scent of poison is diluted in it. The ANGEL!"

Sally and John stared at Sherlock stupidly.

He waved a hand above his head in agitation. "Don't you see?! THE ANGEL!"

"What about it?" John asked, a brow curling.

"The angel was where the poison was. The perfume was permeated with the toxic smell, because it was lingering in the air right next to where the angel was tipped over, and the poisoned fumes were leaking from it. Mrs. Lestrade-"

"Her name is Meredith-" Sally corrected.

"Ok, _Meredith_. She is trying to kill her soon-to-be ex husband! She wouldn't have left a priceless family heirloom if she were leaving early! She'd want all her things! No, she knew that-oh this is fabulous!_"

"This is GREG you're talking about , you realize that, yeah?" Sally spat, and John swallowed, nervously.

"So, she diluted some kind of disolving base chemical, that would be highly caustic and would release a poisonous fume, something as possibly domestic as a mixture of different kinds of household cleaners, and at lethal percentages, and left it in a place that she knew he would be in direct, prolonged contact with. What better place than right beside his bed? Hidden inside of an heirloom that he despised and would never bother to think about,much less pick up, and look underneath, or try to straighten. So, he goes to sleep last night...and wakes up, delirious, and burned by the bleeding angel. AHA! It's just too clever!"

"Yes-it is." John cut in. "But WHY is she trying to kill him, where did she go, and most importantly, is she going to be back to try it again?!"

Sherlock turned to them both, stunned into silence.

"Oh God."

"So, she is, then, right?" Sally asked, anticipating his answer, as a bad one.

"She is, yeah. Soon. Very soon. In fact, she may have him exactly where she wants him. You said he was at St. James?"

"Yeah?!"

"GET US THERE, AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!" Sherlock basically shouted, and bounded for their door, John scrambling at his heels, and Sally fumbling with the keys to the police car.

Sherlock ran down the stairs chanting, "IT'S A GAME, A GAME OF TURNING TABLES! AND IT NEVER ENDS!"


	4. Chapter 4 The Truth is Laid Bare

** Chapter 4: The Truth Is Laid Bare~**

The car came shrieking to a stop in the lot of St. James. Sherlock came crashing through the doors, long dark coat caught up in a wind from behind, like the eagle's wings as he landed. Behind the darkness , stormed John's lightning bright light, so quickly he moved that his arms seemed to be generating electric currents in the air. There was a rabble of nurses and doctors, and offended clerics come to pray ,alarmed that the peace of the sick should be so disturbed.

"Police. EMERGENCY!" shouted Donovan as she streamed across the parking lot, like a comet closing in on both Daylight and Darkness. The doors closed behind them, the staff was left with an ominous cloud, and then suddenly deep silence ,deep waiting silence, as Sherlock, by his methods, located Greg's room, and burst through the door.

The Inspector sat upright in bed, looking tired and pale, and had an oxygen tube in his nose, but other than that he was alright. Meredith Lestrade stood at the foot of his bed, and she was holding a gun in a shaking hand.

Behind her stood Mary Morstan, and Irene Adler.

"Halt! I'll shoot!"Meredith yelled, pointing the pistol shakily at Sherlock.

"Oh,c'mon, you can't even shoot me! It'll be harder to kill him, considering that he's come back from the dead for the SECOND time in a row, just 2 weeks ago." Greg gasped, voice cracking at the strain of this absurd situation.

Sherlock grinned as if he was being celebrated, mouth turned sideways, teeth barring again like a clever young wolf come upon his prey, and he entered the room with a sweep of the long dark coat, that served as his ominous mantel.

"Is that so?" Irene said, looking actually a mixture of amazed and utterly terrified.

John stopped in his tracks. "No, wait. WAIT! _YOU_ are supposed to be dead! I lied and told Sherlock that you were in America, but you were beheaded by radicals in Karachi!"

Sherlock blinked 3 times. "She _was _in America , John. Actually, we lied to you, by telling you the truth."

"Oh, I was. Because _Sherlock,_ (with the help of his big brother ,of course) got me out of there, just in the nick of time."

Mycroft swept into the room then, like a phantom springing from a shadow's blood.

"What the HELL is going on? Sherlock?!" John swore, turning to his friend. Whose face had become a stone cold mask, that was chiseled with sorrow. More like the mournful face of a gravestone, than the terrible mask of Icarus.

"Meredith Lestrade. I would be delighted if you _would _shoot me. It would be easier ,anyway."

Mary smiled, sickly, "Oh, Sherlock...You knew...you weren't going to be able to hide from me."

"WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME _WHAT _IS GOING ON?!" John shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Yeah..and I would like to know why my wife... is trying to kill me?" Greg gasped, swallowing, as Meredith turned on him with the pistol.

"It's part of her initiation into the Pandora Pact. I suspected it the whole time, the nature of her disappearance alarmed me ,Mycroft." Sherlock muttered, speaking aside to his brother.

The elder Holmes hummed softly through his nose. "Seems Pandora sunk her teeth into yet another innocent victim..." he commented.

"Oh,Mycie, I was NEVER innocent..." Irene chuckled.

Mycroft ,for the first time that anyone who knew him could remember, was sudden hotly angry,

"THERE ARE NO WORDS FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE! WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE DONE! WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE MADE ME DO!"

"Ok, ok, please! Just,...Freak-SHERLOCK. What is ...happening?" Sally gasped, getting scared now herself.

"Yes, I see. Everyone's been dying to hear it , haven't they? _The True Confessions of Sherlock Holmes._ Might make a nice entry on John's blog, if he was still allowed to talk about me, seeing as, as far as the world is concerned, I'm six feet under ground, and have been for going on 2 years. Fine, what have I got to lose?! Yes. Yes, I saved Irene Adler from the radicals she crossed swords with in Karachi. But it wasn't for any silly fairy notions like _love-" _he said the last word so waspishly that everyone in the room flinched visibly,"So, if that's in your heads, you can all have it straight out of there. I did it ,first and foremost, because, Ms. Adler, I have always been trying to save you. Yes, I do admire you. Yes, I believe that you have potentials for the power of good. Somewhere inside of the whore that almost dissolved the United Kingdom with her ways, is my brother's personal assistant, with the promising career. And, if it hadn't have been for this Pandora, and her delusions, you might have Mycroft's job now, and he would have been elected Prime Minister, or so they all had hoped. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! I should know! I fell so hard I woke up in a body bag 1 day and 10 hours after the fact!" Suddenly, he had an utterly _vicious _smile on his face, and he was pacing around Irene, who swallowed, totally powerless to speak.

"And secondly, I needed to keep you alive-to keep playing the bloody GAME!"

Irene flinched at how that last word cracked like Odin's thunder-whip into the room.

"Because you had fallen into the wrong hands, and we couldn't allow that to happen, no, you must fall into the hands that will rectify your wrongs, and if you will bleed, it will be by the sword of justice. We saved you, Mycroft and I, to show the world that we still had power in the Game. That Moriarty's Network best beware, because the Woman thought to play us, and we played her instead. And if we had the Queen teetering on the edge of the board, the King was soon to follow.

"And thirdly," and at this he turned to Mary, who smiled with a gleam in her eyes like a starving viper. John felt his heart grow cold. "It is the nature of our Service, of our particular line of work,...to be married to our Work...wouldn't you say so,..Pandora ,dear?"

"Oh, yeah! I'd also say that you have a vow you need to renew...Do you remember the bargain you made with me?...A soul for a soul ,as promised...C'mon Sherlock, forget the protocol. Play the Game..."

Suddenly, Mycroft shut and locked the door, and signaled his SWAT team to close in on the hospital, via a microphone at his wrist.

" I should forewarn the lot of you that what you are hearing is of confidence of national security, and if you so much as think about what you are going to hear in the next 30 seconds, you will be charged with high treason, condemned to capital punishment, sentence carried out by firing squad, effective as soon as you can step outside, and no exceptions." he looked at John apologetically, and the young doctor felt his heart twist.

"Yes, no exceptions...which is why I never breathed a word in his hearing. Because he had psychogenic amnesia, and couldn't remember that I was in Afghanistan with him, and even when he recalled me, he had no recollection of _you_." Sherlock was saying, talking about John, to Mary. Mycroft cut his brother off, feeling a need to explain:

"To clarify, before my brother was your consultant, Inspector Lestrade, and after his fall from grace, he was my personal consultant, and worked for a special division of the Secret Intelligence Services. And ,once upon a time, Irene Adler, under another name, was my P.A., and yes...my friend... After her glorious betrayal, the job was given to the woman you lot know as "Anthea". This particular division of Secret Intelligence, sometimes refered to as "Unique Careers", has a protocol that surpasses all other protocol of Secret Intelligence. Operatives within the machine of this division, are not only sworn to secrecy, they are trained in a field of mental exercises , which you have heard Sherlock causally refer to as his "Mind Palace" on one occasion, but is far more complex than that, that will give them the ability to eliminate certain information from their minds, that could be potentially betrayed confidence of the state. After Adler's betrayal, and the night of Morstan's attempted assassination of my brother, he was, by protocol, obliged to mentally delete their very existence from his memory. This was the reason that the mention of their names was forbidden, and one of my superior medical officers surnamed it, "manic episode" trigger. There is a place in Sherlock's mind, he affectionately calls "the Box", where all the secret things ,that even he doesn't know that he knows it himself, are stored. Sort of like a recycling feature on a PC system. And so ,in the case which Doctor Watson dubbed "Scandal in Belgravia" , I could safely entrust my brother with the case, or so I thought, being that he had very successfully liberated himself of all memory of the Woman..."

"But then I started playing the Game with him, didn't I? Naughty girl that I am...I began to seduce your baby brother, like I did the other one..."Irene purred.

"Yes, but you seem to forget ,there is a reason why the King referred to Sherlock as "The Virgin". Your seduction...ritualistic as it was...it did not work. And thank God it did not...for I would hate to have hand-dug the grave of another of my brothers...It nearly broke my heart, if we are laying the truth totally bare now, how Sherlock almost despised me after the sentence was carried out."

"Sentence...other brother?" John asked, feeling he was skating on thin ice just broaching the question.

"Ah, yes, Sherrinford. The third brother of the Holmes boys trio. And the one that everyone in the world was obliged to forget because of _protocol."_Sherlock hissed, and then smiled. "He himself was a master assassin, and was Mary's teacher...And of the three brothers, he was the most unlike our kind...and here you probably thought that I was the black sheep of the Holmes family, didn't you?

But,alas, not. I am only Icarus, the Fallen One. No, Sherrinford was the one they called the Black Sheep. And he was good too, there was never a better...But Sherrinford had a problem that his brothers were blessed not to have. Like Samson's great strength was tamed by Delilah...Sherrinford lost his soul...to a Woman...A particular woman...that we know by the name of Irene Adler..."

Irene smiled sickly.."Naughty girl, wasn't I?"

"Oh ,yes..."Mycroft said coldly, " Naughty and foolish. You couldn't be content to be the book-keeper. You just had to open those books. And by so doing, you opened yourself up to Pandora. Only to learn, that the golden child of their order, had climbed her way up the ranks, to being my brother's star-pupil..."

Mary smiled, "You flatter me."

"And she promised you a place in their Kingdom ,didn't she?...She lead you to loving her...in the way that you claim to love her...She seduced you and used you, the same as you seduce and use men yourself. To be initiated into the Pandora Pact, that you had only discovered by naughtily reading the case files that were confident between my child-brother and I, she instructed you to sacrifice a man...a man that you loved. But you were torn. You had developed a sickened attraction to all 3 of the Holmes sons...You believed that if you sacrificed not 1, not 2, but 3 young men to your mistresses, then you would be very great in their order ,didn't you? And so, under your teacher's watchful eye, you seduced the first of the brothers... and gained information of confidence from his lips to betray to your mistresses, and the confidence he had leaked was a capital offense, so I was forced to authorize his execution...or otherwise give him up to greater torments or "examinations" as the Darker Powers of our Work call them, screens for what he knew, and what he told. And, at the same time, possibly risk the lives of the rest of my family.

You turned my only surviving brother against me...and yet I was unaware...of course, silly me!, no one ever suspects their innocent ,attractive young book-keeper!, that it was you to whom the information was betrayed. For you were the one that had reported the breach! And then you assumed the supportive ,potential lover role. You tried to conjure feelings from my ice-cold heart that I do not have. And when the confusion became too much to bear,...I sent you to work for my brother, in hopes that you could be a mediator between us, and end our feud in a more democratic way...But alas, it only fanned the flames, for you set your vicious fangs for my brother, still only a boy. And you didn't cloak yourself to him, you knew that his eyes of all were sharpest, and he would see right through you. So you acted like a blatant whore to him, you made all sorts of lewd suggestions. But, if any of the Holmes brothers could possibly be swayed by your erotic notions, the youngest of us, the one with the purest heart, despite his shadow, (and apply named "The Virgin", for Moriarty, in the end, seems to have understood the complex creation that is Sherlock Holmes best) would not be the one. It only alarmed him, confused him, irked him, and ultimately caused him to despise you, despite the attraction. So despising you, he saw through your mask, he saw straight to the heart of the web you were weaving, where sat the true spider...And his heart ,being pure, whether he believes it or not, despite that he hated you, he made it his sworn duty to save you from her. It seems he has failed..."

Irene looked stricken, as Mycroft's speech ended.

And then from the corner of the room, Mary began to chuckle.

"Oh yeah...he failed ,alright...Rather miserably , I'm afraid. And now seeing as the truth is laid bare...I think its time you paid me what you owe me...Sherlock..."

"What is she talking about...Sherlock?" John asked, feeling like he already knew.

"Pandora...wants her Box..."Sherlock replied.

The room grew cold with silence.


	5. Chapter 5 The Sins Are Punished

**Chapter 5: The Sins Are Punished~**

Mycroft's heart has stopped.

The day that he has to atone for all his faults, he feels , has finally come. He has bitterly regretted the decision he made in Sherrinford's behalf ever since the day.

Suddenly into his mind flashes a memory he has not beckoned. He tries to delete it ,like protocol would have, but in the end, Mycroft's dying heart has won.

_He hasn't spoken to his brother since the day that Sherrinford died. Hasn't seen him face to face. And now, now he must give him the files for the Viper's Nest mission, the mission that most likely will be his death sentence too._

_Sherlock was mixed in with the rest of the soldiers that moved like a cloud of locusts about their business. Always work when there's no fighting, that is the way of it._

_When he sees him, he hardly recognizes him from behind. He's a lot taller than the last time he saw him, which was over a year ago. He's a lot thinner too. Sherlock stopped eating after the things he'd seen in the line of service..._

_He sets down a huge crate of medical supplies, and calls to one of the boys, that it needs to be taken to Watson's tent, and that there are computer parts in it as well, so it needs to be handled with care._

_Then he turns...and it takes Mycroft's breath._

_The look on Sherlock's face._

_The boy is gone. The man that was rising up in him is gone. _

_There is only a machine standing there, cold, isolated, mechanical,solitary..._

_Not his baby brother. Not anymore._

_He is drawn to him like a magnet. And the harsh words he expected, even the blows that he expected, don't come._

_Sherlock says nothing to Mycroft at all. He doesn't take his death sentence like man. He takes it like a MACHINE. Extending a hand for the papers, reading them carefully._

_He salutes, cadaverous mask never breaking into an expression, never entreating Mycroft for an explanation, never one to express dismay that he must die so young a man. No emotions at all, in the face of his great traumatic end._

_There is no life in his eyes, it is as if the spirit has already flown far away, there is no spark ,nor glory, nor even a purpose in the mission... The machine just follows the program...the protocol._

_And Mycroft realizes ,to the sinking of his heart, that he has lost Sherlock too..._

"Sherlock,...what have you done?" Mycroft gasps...not wanting to believe it, but knowing.

"I shall say this now, although it is very unlikely that I shall need to. If I fail in this endeavour, report to Unique Headquarters immediately, and tell them they have a Code Red. And...don't tell our mother..." Sherlock tells Mycroft, taking a deep breath.

"What endeavour? SHERLOCK, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!" John shouted, and his face had flushed as if his heart was about to burst.

Sherlock couldn't bear to look at John. Or at any one, but Mary. And it was Mary who answered...

"I started a war with you lot a long time ago...and Sherlock means to finish it."

"Some of us only speak English!" Greg growled, fighting against the medical equipment he was plugged into.

" I ...made a deal with the devil...with Mary...during my Hiatus , when we encountered each other again. A deal to preserve John's life... and a deal to ultimately settle the score between us."

Mary giggled, impatiently, wanting to tell her end of the story,

" I'm a sharp-shooter, not gonna lie. But my real field of expertise, when it comes to killing quietly, is poison. Not deadly poison. Poison that makes a man a monster...drives him out of his mind...gives his soul over to me...where I can use him for whatever I please, then I shoot him. Well...Sherlock's got everything I need, every thing I want, all the little details that could secure for me a clean slate, as well as send me climbing up the "stairway to heaven" when it comes to the Order, if you know what I mean. _Pandora's_ Box...all locked up nice and neat inside his head. Well, he's not gonna just give it to me, it comes with a price. I have to promise him John's head won't be touched, nary a hair...And that seems easy enough, I might like to play with John again in the future...seeing as his little psychogenic episode, that lasted around 10 years...has completed wiped Ms. Mary off the board, am I wrong?...So since keeping John, and you lot too I guess, and Molly and your Major...and the landlady old what's-her-face...works out good for the both of us...Seems the price needs to be a little steeper. Sherlock's still loyal to a fault to his precious Secret Services, ...knows that if he squeals, not only will they off _him,_ but it gives Mycroft a passport to the electric chair as well...Gots ta save big brother too, eh, Sherlock? Still love him, despite _everything._ In the end , so bloody honest, under all that bad-boy talk of yours. So in the end, it was Sherlock who came up with the idea for me to wrench the information from him. "We'll make it a Game..." he says, "And the winner takes the prize..." he says. If he wins, he keeps all his secrets, plus your miserable lives, gets to save the day,...and all that precious rot. And if I win...then I get my secrets,...and I kill the lot of you, using the same methods I did on him, and then when it's all over...I see to it that he falls into the hands of authority, and he dies in disgrace for what he did. "Fair enough," I say,..."I always do love a good game." So, it was up to me to figure out what the rules to this Game was...how it was gonna work. I've been saving a sample of the "Akhlys" serum I used on Sherlock the night of mine and Irene's escape...Well, over the years, I got to stewing about Sherlock Holmes, and how he didn't deserve to have lived on, and kept that puke , that angel what looks more like a little hedge hog or something alive as well, keeping him like a pet, LIVING with him now!.." Mary hissed, looking at John who is hyperventilating...

"Well...I perfected Akhlys ,Sherlock. Wanna hear how the serum works now?"

"All ears." Sherlock shrugs. Greg's stomach jumps to his throat. Sherlock...is going to be tortured. If he caves to the torture, it will be goodnight Vienna for the lot of them. Which is why, everyone knows, but no one will dare think it, except open-mouthed, open-minded Greg, that Sherlock won't cave. It will become utterly impossible for him to give in to whatever she is going to do to him, because he wants to win, needs to win, and can win, therefore he will. This ultimately means that he is going to suffer. Until he can suffer no more.

He might even die, for real this time. But Greg can't bring himself to think about that.

"You will have a window of 48 hours to come and catch me if you can. And it's so good, you'll see...that I'm willing to add a little more to the bargain. If you win, I will turn in my gun. I will walk willingly before the firing squad."

"Really?!" Sherlock scoffed, not believing her.

"No lies, Sherlock. No time for them any more. I really am tired of running around. Tired of being bored. You can't win anyway...Not to this. You will have a window of 48 hours, in which the poison increases its psychedelic potency. You'll still be lucid to everything around you though, you might even have a chance to dissolve my little puzzle. But...when the Akhlys Hour comes..." she is suddenly grinning like a demon.

Irene has burst into tears...

" You...really...you are REALLY going to use that...on another human being?"

"Oh yeah, of course. Why? Have you suddenly grown a heart?"

Irene is shaking her head. And looks at Sherlock apologetically.

"Even the King forbid its use. Even _James Moriarty _ had limits..."

"Oh...did he now? Mmm...maybe that's why he's dead.. I have a news flash for you, dearest.I am not James Moriarty. I am that terrible monster under his bed, that makes him run to his mummy, sucking his thumbs, wetting his nappy and all of that!"

"You...you honestly think that I will ALLOW you to go through with this ridiculous deal? I have a whole firing squad at my command, on this premises!" Mycroft gasped, voice not betraying his sheer desperation.

"Well...let me put it like this." Mary said, with a smug smile, and then she put the barrel of her pistol directly between Sherlock's eyes.

"Don't...please, just!" John gasped, stretching out a shaking hand.

" The "Akhlys Hour " is when my specific poison has reached its peak performance. That will be the hour of truth, and we'll see then if the great Sherlock Holmes really has what it takes to beat me...or if he will cave and undo everything you've worked so hard to build, Ice Man. But... , there is a chance, that he can pull through said Hour alive...A small chance...If you try to interfere with our bargain, though..."

She chambered her gun, finger stirring the air around the trigger.

"Mary..." Irene begged, voice grown hoarse.

"He dies here and now. And I disappear. Or I don't. You can kill me, I don't care. Just the satisfaction of killing Sherlock Holmes will be enough for me..." she smiles again, sickly.

"The gun will be easier..." Mycroft gasps, desperate to keep his brother from suffering anymore.

"Will it?" Mary asks, turning it over, and pistol-whipping Sherlock viciously across the face.

John shouts, but no sound comes. He's enraged to the point of being mute, and is sheet-white.

Sherlock stands slowly up, nose streaming blood, facing Mycroft now.

"It's...alright. Just...let me..."

"Sherlock...it's...too great a risk."

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life, brother mine."

"This is the only way to save your lives...It's alright...Let me..."

Mycroft couldn't say anything.

"Oi, really, please...NO!" Sally begged, covering her mouth. No one paid her any mind, except Greg, who was absolutely stunned that even Sally Donovan was begging for Sherlock to be shown a little mercy.

Mary looked at Mycroft with a laugh.

"Silence is consent. Aint that right, Sherlock?"

"Just finish this, you snake." Sherlock hissed.

"Be my pleasure." she gasped.

Suddenly one of the black leather gloves she was wearing grew needles, like a wolverine's claws. John gave a sputtering cry, and was babbling hoarsely begging her not to, but she reached, hard against Sherlock's chest, needles going up into his rib cage.

He let out the softest moaning sound, like when one makes noises in their sleep. He closed his eyes tight, and his teeth barred, in an expression like a dog makes when its sleepy. Mary rolled her hand, with a sudden high-pitched giggle.

"Oh, Sherlock! I can feel your heart! I didn't know you had one. It's..suprisingly warm..."she motioned her fingers in a tickling motion, and then she squeezed her fist down on the vital organ.

Sherlock gasped, and his eyes opened wide, and rolled back in his head, whites turning a robin's egg blue.

Mary pulled the needles out, even as Sherlock began to froth at the mouth like something with rabies.

He fell to his knees, gurgling.

"2 days, Myc. That's all you get." Mary gasped, with a wink. "Come on, Irene..."

Irene stood above Sherlock staring in horror.

"Go...before I change my mind about showing you mercy." Mycroft hissed, and she fled the room.

John fell to his knees beside Sherlock, and took his face in his hands, making him look at him.

His eyes had a hard time focusing, whites turned bluish, and tearing up, lips foaming for a minute...

John swallowed, and smiled as kindly as he could.

"There's been times...when I've followed you into the dark...Listen...can you hear me?...I need you...oi!, no, look me in the eyes!- I need you to follow me into the Light, got it?...You are going to get through this...Do you hear me?...You are going to pull through. I'm right here. It's alright..."

Sherlock groaned, and fell forward on John's chest, out like a light.


	6. Chapter 6 There is No Cure

** Chapter 6: There is No Cure~**

Molly has had an extremely bad day.

She would have to say that it has been even worse than the day she and Major drugged themselves and climbed inside of a box headed for the Caribbean. At least she had been having an adventure then.

Today she had tried for the 3rd time to patch things up with her most-recent long-term boy friend Tom. But when she had arrived at the café they were going to have coffee at and just talk, he had been there with another woman. An extremely gorgeous woman who had flicked hot coffee all over her, and had ruined her favorite sweater.

Needless to say, Molly had thus broken up with Tom for the very last time. Gone home, and showered for 20 minutes just to get the hot latte with cinnamon and some other sickly sweet stuff smell off of her.

Then she'd had to go to work to find a body that had been turned literally "Barney the Dinosaur from our Imagination" purple and green ,from death by collapse of a hardware's paint shelf, ( she was left wondering why she needed to even do the autopsy if the cause of death was already known? And on top of everything he or she was rather squashed...)

Things had finally slowed down a bit. She no longer smelled like roasty cinnamon, and she had cleaned the paint off the cadaver and determined exactly where the death-blow had come from (large can of purple paint upside the noggin'), and she was just about ready to send the man's ( for extremely old man it was) paperwork off , and was quietly shushing her quiet-inside-Sherlock voice (which is what she affectionately called the angry ranting inside her head at Tom, but rather than her own voice, it was Sherlock's, making observations, and adequate insults, like only Sherlock can).

"No, seriously, stop!" she laughed aloud to the imaginary counterpart of her best friend, when in stormed Major Sholto with the real-life version of Sherlock sprawled rag-doll limp across his shoulders, John walking beside him, holding Sherlock's wrist to monitor his pulse. Greg Lestrade was walking behind them, still dressed in a hospital gown, walking awkwardly and cross-legged. Sally Donovan was beside him, chewing her lip fretfully. And behind her walked Mycroft with two agents on either side of him, that each had a hand grappling a woman that Molly didn't recognize, but it was Meredith Lestrade.

"Molly! Thank God!, we're gonna need your help." John gasped, smiling like he had seen a ministering angel, and by rights he had, for he had always thought of Molly as being Sherlock's ministering angel.

"Oh my God! Is he...what happened...will he?...Is he ok?!" Molly basically chirped.

"That's why we've brought him to you...to see how bad off he actually is. It's too much to explain at the moment, but he's been poisoned...We will need you to run some blood tests ,on the chemical she used, to see if there's an antidote, and how much time we've got to get it to him before it gets bad...Also, If you could call someone down here to bring me a heart monitor ,that would help."

"And if you've got any popsicles, we will be needing those too, please ma'am." Major declared.

"...Sorry,...popsicles?" Molly sputtered.

John looked at the Major, brows twisted in extreme confusion.

Undaunted, Major shrugged.

"A sick man needs popsicles! It's a given fact, and the first medical thing that you learn in your entire life, usually from your grandmother..."

John nodded, "Well, if you could just take care of the blood tests and the heart monitor, for the moment, I would very much appreciate it!" he gasped, taking Sherlock down from the Major's shoulders, the Major adjusting him in his arms, like one would pass a very sick toddler to their father. Which is rather difficult when the very sick, rendered child-like person in question is several centimeters taller than you.

Somehow, perhaps the need ,and the anxiety of said pressing need to do thus, John had lifted Sherlock up like one does a bride, head resting on his chest, long legs dangling over his arm, and had carried him to a table meant for the cadavers, and laid him down on it. The cold metal against the back of his neck made Sherlock's eyes pop open. His pupils had shrunken almost eerily, the eye whites were milky and a strange bluish color.

"New York City..." he groaned.

"Sorry..what?" John asked, smoothing his sweat plastered hair back from off his forehead. Mycroft's eyes lit up, immediately understanding what the only half-conscious Sherlock was trying to say.

"What about New York, brother mine?" he asked, taking one of his clammy,shaking hands into his own.

"It's...where we have to go...To stop her...Stop...Mary..."

Molly rushed about to do as she was asked, head burning with anguish. Oh yes this had been a VERY bad day indeed! And then she stopped short at the name.

"Mary?,...Who's...who's Mary?" she asked, feeling sick on a sudden, thinking she might know who they were talking about already.

"Why New York...what makes you think that?" Greg gasped, utterly amazed by his consultant, who was, even now on death's doorstep ,for the third time in too recently, still able to solve their case.

"Don't...don't think. Observed it...when she had...needles in my chest...Her...well...clothes, hair, makeup, stains on her assassin's suit...little things like always...except...it's...hard to talk..."

"Shh...it's ok...you don't have to talk..." John said, making him lay all the way back.

"He will need to talk if we're to find where she is. And stop her, before something worse happens to him, and to the lot of us..." Mycroft said.

John gave him a "I am a doctor. My word is law." sort of look, and said,

"See what we're up against first, if we can cure him, or slow it down...or whatever we've got to do to help him _survive_ it, and then we'll deal with her."

"Who is she?"

"Not important now, Molly." Mycroft gasped, irritably.

"Only maybe it is ,Myc!" Molly shouted,and everybody looked at her stunned, and she swallowed,

"Sorry...it's just...a woman...a woman was here...last night...named Mary. Asking...questions."

"Questions? What kind of questions?"

"Well...not the "about to commit murder kind" if that's what you're all thinking...It's...well... um...she wanted to know...if I had a man by the name of Charles Youngblood ... on my list? I didn't...never heard any such name...and besides I wouldn't tell anybody but Sherlock information confident to the hospital so...I ...well...called security on her..."

"Security? Or...do you mean Yard officers that patrol here after visiting hours ,ever since Sherlock fell?...Were their names " Clearfield" and "Smith"? "Donovan asked, eyes going wide.

"Yes?" Molly's voice was suddenly very small.

"They're friends of Anderson's ,... work on his team. And they didn't show up for work today, either." Sally gasped, eyes crossing, suddenly terrified.

"Oh God..."Greg moaned.

"Blood...Young...blood...YOUNGBLOOD!" Sherlock gasped, sitting bolt upright.

"EASY! What is it?!" John cried, reaching and taking him by the shoulders...

Sherlock is suddenly panting, eyes fluttering..."Youngblood...Charles...Youngblood...Moriarty's...supposedly mythical..." he stifled a low, agitated whine, and the others looked at him in horror, because he is seriously terrified, and the poison is making it harder for him to conceal it like always before.

"His "exterminator"...His personal exterminator,... unlimited knowledge of toxins...One that was believed to be just an urban legend...But I know better. He-he-he's the one that Mary ...solicited as mediator...in...our...bargain...And...even Moriarty...hated him...The order...was given for him to be offed...before he could...perfect his poison of choice. He was thought dead before Moriarty committed suicide...and later...I..well...I thought I had ..killed him..."

He looked at his chest then, and swallowed a sob, fingering the lacerations the needles had made...

"Oh my God..." he whispered, so quietly the others thought they had imagined it.

He looked up at John then, and the look on his face told them that he was weighing the choice that he had made, and had convinced himself, logically and otherwise, that it was indeed the right one. And suddenly his face was the same hard mask that it usually was, although his eyes were still bluish and dilated from the toxic waste inside him.

"...Never mind the tests...Molly...There is no cure...There is nothing that can stop it or slow it down...If that viper Youngblood is the one she went to, then there is only one way to live,...and that is to allow it to run through my veins unbridled..." he smiled ,grimly. "But...if she can't find his body, then it probably means she's willing to turn herself over to us...to escape him...because ,for once, Pandora failed to make the kill..."

The others were stunned into utter silence. And then Sherlock looked at Mycroft and whispered...

"Charles Youngblood...publically goes by the alias "Magnusson"."

Mycroft looked like he was about to vomit.

"Oh dear God, Sherlock!"

Sherlock nodded, and felt John nervously take his hands, shaking his head like this was not happening.

"Donovan?" Sherlock called.

"Yeah?" she asked, really confused, and upset, and came and sat beside the gurney in one of Molly's swivel chairs.

Sherlock reached up, clinging to her sleeve.

"Anderson's life...is in danger...You need to find him for me...I'm going to need his help..."

"Wait...you...need...Anderson?"

Sherlock nodded..."Yeah...And...we ,...all of us...need to get to New York City. Take a holiday ,take a sick day, however you "proper" police officers do it...Just get away from the Yard somehow...we all have to be in New York for the Akhlys Hour."

"Why?" Greg gasped.

But Sherlock had used all the strength he currently had in him, and had passed out cold.


	7. Chapter 7 The Witch Hunt Begins

**Chapter 7: The Witch Hunt Begins~**

Sally Donovan's heart feels like it's about to shatter.

She is in Brixton. Why did it always have to be Brixton?

"Stay on the line...with me..."Sherlock Holmes said into the receiver of her mobile phone.

It was irony at its most bitter form.

That the man that she had driven to his death, was now the only one who could spare her, and her working partner, from a like and certain end.

"Sherlock-I-I don't think, I can do this..."

Greg had been bitterly wizened by Sherlock's death. He had GPS locators put on his close fellow officer's phones, and made a pact with them to forgive and to trust one another in the future. No more innocent men were going to the gallows of their doubts, not a single soul followed Sherlock off the Edge.

Right now, Phillip Anderson was dangerously close to that Edge.

He ,Clearfield, and Smith had all been doing a final forensic sweep of a private butchery in Brixton, where Sherlock's last murder case had actually spawned from, to see if they had missed any of the details of the case,(such as a potential for more victims) as Sherlock had actually not been allowed to visit the crime scene, only places the suspects frequented. A sensational murder such as this was, Sherlock couldn't be allowed on-scene, in case there were reporters, because he was legally dead, and they wanted to keep him that way ,in the eyes of London. Clearfield and Smith hadn't reported to the Yard this morning, just as Sally had said, because they were supposed to be off duty. Anderson had called them in to get a look at something very odd, and because they were his friends, they had agreed, on the condition that he would buy dinner after.

They made it to dinner. That's where Anderson's phone lead Sally. But it was left just sitting on a pub's counter within the general area of Brixton, so the trail had gone cold, and she called the only man she knew who could find a phantom trail. A man she had hated,once... But was slowly growing to respect, and admire... And after tonight, she might even call him a friend.

For now Sally Donovan was standing at the doorstep of the place the "bloodhound" had traced them, and their assumed kidnapper to.

It was clearly a drug den, hidden in plain sight, cars whizzing by, people too busy to see that she was out of her mind with terror.

Because of what she could see through the windows.

The house was full of a never-ending maze of poisonous vipers, hanging in chain link nets, that served as cages.

She was clutching her mouth to keep from screaming, to keep from vomiting. She couldn't dare to think about Anderson and his friends. They were in the basement; Sherlock was certain of it.

Into her fear spoke the voice of a dying man. A man that had every right to be as terrified as she, if not more, being that he was promised suffering that had made the first King in Terror shy away from its initiator.

"Don't be stupid...No one thinks they can. No one is ready when the time comes..."

She hiccups, and tries to steady her breath,listening to him, too far away, slipping away again, where Mycroft has moved the others to still unclear, had been ever since she set off on this doomed mission.

" But the question you have to ask yourself...when your hour comes..." Sherlock began.

And suddenly he is speaking from experience. An experience that she, regrettably, is to blame for.

"Is...are you willing? Not if you _can,_ but if you _will. _The strength ,you see, is in the choice. All you need is a motivator vicious enough.

If...you love...your friends. If...you want to save them, from this. See to it, that they are all safe...then you will. And if you choose to do it ,then you will have no choice left but to be strong enough...

Love, oddly enough, will make you...able to do...all things.

So choose, Sally..."

She held her breath. And suddenly, soft tears began to fall.

" What happened to you...It- it was my fault...that...And I'm sorry..."

"Whether you are or not, doesn't matter. The past can't be undone...

But...this is your chance...to be a better person, than you were then...

Take my word as gospel. You have the choice to do this..."

She squeaked a sob.

Sherlock's breath rattled, and she wondered if maybe he had blacked out again.

"Sh-sherlock? Hello-are-are you there?"

"I'm here..."

"I-I- OK!, but, but you have to help me!"

Sherlock sighed ,wearily.

"Is it the old Penworth House?"

"How would I know? We're not all clever as you, you know!"

"Just-describe it to me."

"Old white house...I don't know."

"Details, woman! And stop sniveling. CONCENTRATE!"

"Old white house...gutters...painted a dull mauve sort of color. Used to be flower pots, a walk trail to the back yard."

"Good girl. It's the old Penworth place. See the walk-trail?"

"Yeah- Yeah I see...I..."

"Follow it, Sally. It will lead you to an old cellar door. You can get to the basement that way."

"How do I get in if the door has the same kind of old iron work over it as the front one? I can't break that kind of door in, -mm not strong enough."

"Really?, how easy! There's a spare key, always is. Rusted out old box, under the back step light. Hasn't been used in over a decade...I...I know where it is, because the local junkies use the house for long cold nights...I'm not proud of my drug addiciton...but addict I was, and I know the streets as well as I know my name..."

He's talking out of his head now, and Sally is afraid that he will slip away again.

"Sherlock! Really, you can't go to sleep on me, got it?! Please, I'm done for if you do!"

Sherlock's breath rattles..."Not...not going...anywhere."

Sally feels tears sting her eyes, convicted at last.

By rights, he should leave her to die. It's what she would have done, DID do to him.

But in the end Sherlock Holmes is more than just a great man. In the end, at last, they all could see, that he was a good one.

She followed the path, her rattling breath, and infrequent little horrified gasps being the only thing keeping Sherlock awake.

"You at the door yet?"

"Uhuh, but...it smells funny down here!"

"It used to be a meth lab, back when I was a kid. When I got clean, I helped them bust it up. Never wanted to be there anyway." Sherlock said the last part nonchalantly, trying to distract her ,momentarily. Trying to distract himself.

"What do you mean?" she asked, the story working its distracting purpose on her terror long enough for her to find the key, "You were an addict ,right?"

" I was forcibly addicted to drugs. By a rouge group that branched off of Al Qaeda. They were known as "Asphyxia". Don't believe what you hear people say about junkies and all that. A lot of them didn't want it...I really didn't. I don't now. But some things can't be stopped, least, not by yourself..."

Like the racing of her pulse?

Sherlock could never stay off subject for long, even with a purpose.

"Did you find the key?"

"Got it, yeah, right here!"

"Good. Now, open the door."

"Obviously!" she quipped.

Only it wasn't hateful between them, like before. This time she said it as a joke, and he laughed softly.

"In yet?"

"The key's old and bent, hang on to your pants, chief!"

Sherlock gave a long,"ahh" sound that audio captioned the way he rolled his eyes at her.

Seated beside him somewhere, Sally didn't know where, she heard John say to Greg,

"They are getting along alright? Unbelievable!"

"Could be a sign of better days to come, eh?" Greg laughed.

"I'M IN!"

"Finally! Now, look to your left."

"Why?"

"Because there's no where else in the basement ,or the house for that matter, better to keep hostages."

It turned out he was right.

There was a 6 meter pit that opened right in the middle of the floor.

"Welcome, Sergeant Donovan, to the hole I crawled out of. This is where Greg found me, if you ever wondered."

Greg's eyes fogged over tears, remembering that night.

_Into the darkness of the grave-sized pit in the Penworth's basement, that renovator's dug but never filled, he shone his electric torch._

_ "Easy...kid...I just need to ask you some questions...Oh, and arrest you, by the way, if you're in possession of any illegal substances..."_

_ "You from the Yard?" asked a deep voice. The young man that sat up though,didn't seem to belong to it. He looked like a scarecrow's ghost. His stunningly tragic appearance, caught Greg's breath._

_"Yeah, I am. Relatively new actually, so go easy on me, okay?"_

_"My name is Sherlock Holmes...Is it familiar to you?"_

_"No, should it be?"_

_"Figures not. I am ,...I was...Gregson's consultant. Before he retired, and...regretably, so did I."_

_"YOU! You're THE consultant? Nobody ever shut up about you-they called you the Magician and stuff! Always made jabs at me about how I'd get stuck working with you, and that you'd show me up, because you're the best detective that ever breathed, never mind that you aren't police...How in blazes did you end up in this pit?"_

_Sherlock smiled, and held up his wrists. Greg felt a knot in his stomach. The kid was wearing a hospital bracelet, had track lines in his arms. As drawn up and jaundiced as his skin was, it could not hide the fact that he could be no older than 23 ._

_"Take me in, Inspector; I'll go without a fuss. It was me actually that sent in the tip to bust this place. It's more or less my prison. I didn't come willingly, and if you have to ask how I ended up on the sauce, I have Afghanistan to thank for that. Or really, Al Qaeda."_

_"Oh my God...Yeah, yeah somebody did tell me, ...think it was Conners actually...that you were probably gone for good, that you were actually enlisted with like military police or something,and were at the Yard while you were on leave...Said you had deployed, for the second or third time. Somebody else,...think it was Winslow...told me you were KIA."_

_"If by KIA you mean that I was taken hostage in an Al Qaeda sponsored cartel, and force-hooked to this crap, then yeah, you heard right. Very well, Inspector, I'll make a deal with you. You do me the good favor of arresting me and getting me out of this Pit, and I'll be YOUR consultant, as per this evening. What do you say?"_

_"Sounds like an idea, 'cept you'll need rehab first."_

_"Agreed."_

Irony would flow in abundance tonight, when the place of Sherlock's redemption, had in like turn become the place of Anderson, Clearfield, and Smith's as well.

" I FOUND THEM! SHERLOCK, THEY'RE OK!"

"Good. Now ,put Anderson on the line."

Anderson sat up, "Sally?! Oh thank God, untie me, my hands have gone numb!"

She cut him loose, with a nearby saw from the abandoned renovation project.

Anderson was so relieved to have been found, that he almost missed what Sally had said;

"Wait, Sherlock? _Sherlock Holmes_, saved _me?_"

Sally pressed the phone against his ear.

"Hello, Anderson. I've got a job for you."

Anderson's blood went cold, not having personally spoken to Sherlock since his resurrection.

In that moment the Witch Hunt had begun.


	8. Chapter 8 The Appledore Trials Convene

**Chapter 8: The Appledore Trials Convene~**

Mycroft had moved them all to hiding in the train-tunnels, whilst his people arranged for a private jet to take them to New York.

Currently Molly and the Major were killing time by (accidentally) joining a freestyle dancer's private club video. A smoke machine that put off hot pink mist breathed its emissions into their hovel, but for once Mycroft didn't complain, leaning against a wall, a current newspaper leisurely spread across his knees, eyes trained to the sky, mouth hanging open like some one who sleeps with their eyes open.

" Well at least it might provide us with extra cover." Mycroft said, looking pleadingly heavenward.

"At least...say, when do I get to put proper clothes on again?" Greg piped up, weary of his awkward hospital gown.

Meredith sniffed, " The sooner the better." she hissed, spitefully.

"You know you used to be attracted to me. I suppose that was before you started getting involved in weird feminist cults, and trying to shoot me. I guess the divorce isn't moving fast enough for you." Greg sighed, and tried not to look at his soon ex-wife.

"Oh, the sooner Donovan gets Anderson here the better! Domestic rubbish!" Mycroft moaned, trying to tune out the techno music that the dancers were jamming to, hearing Molly and Major singing along at the top of their lungs.

John sat a little farther down the tunnel, on the edge of a curb made into the pavement ,holding Sherlock almost like one would hold a baby, having wrapped him in one of those orange blankets they use for shock patients. Monitoring him closely.

All of this, had happened WAY too fast.

Getting Sherlock back. Finland. Finding out about his Dad's murder, and being marooned on Baskerville Island! And now-now this haunting of Pandora and the Woman.

All of this on top of learning that Sherlock had been brutally tortured to keep him safe. That this current situation was only agreed to on his behalf.

His heart was squeezing in his chest, chest pains causing his throat to throb. Love for the man in his arms crept through him like every blood cell was a boulder the size of the Stone of Gibraltar. HEAVY, and almost painful.

Sherlock shifted in his sleep, face twisted in misery, something he was seeing in his sleep troubling him greatly. John fingered his face...

"Shh..." he whispered to him. "Hey, mate, it's ok. This'll be over soon! Heck, we don't have enough people we've actually fraternized with to have any more domestic tragedies after this...you know?"

Silence.

"Sherlock?...I promise..."John couldn't finish the sentence, just swallowed a gasp, and tried to smile, hands twitching nervously ,and then resumed fingering Sherlock's face , drawing a thumb over his trembling mouth,as if trying to make it be still.

Whether in response to his name, or to the feeling of John's hands on his face, John didn't know, but Sherlock started talking in his sleep.

"Doll..." he mumbled.

"Come again?"

"His doll...Youngblood..."Magnusson"...whatever..._his_ doll. The Exterminator's doll..."

"Oi, take it easy. What are you on about?"

Sherlock suddenly drew up like a tiny child would in John's arms, pressing his face into his chest, and then the young doctor realized that he was still asleep, if only fitfully. John let a soft breath through his nostrils,and drew him protectively closer.

"What doll, Sherlock? What are you talking about?"

"Me. I am...the Doll. Was...how he...tortured me."

Oh.

There had been parts, whole chapters of the Hiatus, that Sherlock hadn't told John earlier,because he hadn't remembered them.

He was about to get the truest confession from Sherlock ever disclosed.

His guard was only let so perfectly down when he was asleep in the doctor's arms.

"Hyper-active induced sclerosis..." Sherlock hissed, and shifted painfully, and hand shooting up, and batting at John's chest. John gathered him closer, reaching and clinging to that stray hand for dear life...

"Ok. What...does that mean,exactly?"

"What he called it...What he did to me...Mary...she brought me to him. For the bargain, that we made...about John...About...obtaining my Box, or not...She won't have it though...She won't because of my motive...have reason...to keep it locked up tight...Too tight...for her to get in...even with-" he moaned, his train of thought changing mid-stream.

"He chained me...to the wall...somewhere...think it was...in Cancun...The Mexican cartel...supplied him with a lot of smuggled drugs...from...America...substance traceable to Area 51...didn't want to start a War with the allies..left that one alone...Chained me to the wall...Said..." With toxins..I can do anything,Sherlock, I can make anything true, I can make anyone believe, or do,or think, or feel, or become whatever I want to. Gonna turn you into a doll...Porcelain doll..." Then...he...he stuck a crown of needles, on my head. They ...went through my skull...direct injection...some poison...refined from an unnamed alloy they found in...space. Said...he could do anything, said he'd harvest the stars...said he'd be a god...and I'd be his doll...his voodoo doll, the target of all his blackmail. Said he was just using Mary...like a puppet, said he'd get my Box...and use it...on the world. Can't have it...John...that would kill him...all the secrets I keep...keep them for him...to be safe..."

John is trying not to cry. Trying to be steady for him, because he is the one that needs help right now, whether he'd admit it, if he could, or not.

"But...drug...it..mmm...Attacked myelin sheath in nervous system, like MS does...Made it hard, and brittle too, actually literally started transforming it...into ...a porcelain like...substance...Rapidly...hence the name...Painful too,...indescribably painful, past the chart of what brain is supposed to handle...Had serious bout of epilepsy...for 3 days...chained to the wall...

When...when I woke up...couldn't feel. Very numb, very exhausted..He showed me ..a mirror. My flesh...had literally turned...been stimulated to turn itself...hard...and brittle...and it was...off- white...like porcelain..only a tiny bit...softer...mmm...I was...his...doll...And what did he do with his doll?

Beat his doll...Broke it up, like one does and egg...smashed it...tissue still kinda sticky, didn't break,..just cracked...everywhere...Then he gave me the reverse agent drug...Cured me...but hurt...worse than being made sick...Hurt...I was burning, nerves come back to life. And seizures...brain was over-heating,...too high fever...so another drug...Should have died, probably...Drove me temporarily insane...Thought I killed him...thought I crushed his skull, his mind palace...Said he had one...called it the Appledore Vaults. But got to thinking...Nobody as cunning...as ...Magnusson...would only have mental storehouses..information...mmm...Has to be actually at Appledore...in disguise...Hologram...Think it's hologram...have...reasons...Anderson..I need a forensic...One that I know...is better...Forensic to search...Appledore for signs...whilst I draw out the demon...behind the witch..."

He let out a soft snore then, and twisted tighter in on himself..."Said he'd make a master poison...The cat-glove, straight to the heart kind...is always...more unpleasant...Has a unique chemical in the gland of his brain that produces fear...Even a psychopath has fears...just keeps them under lock and key...Gonna use it to make a "Master" poison..To dredge the "bones" up...Two can play at that game...gonna convene...Appledore Trials...Going to burn him..."

John looked at heaven, his breath frozen under forty layers of red-snow rendered blood.

"Oh-...Oh my...God...Sher-" his voice dies in his throat.

What Sherlock has just told him, until this moment, should not have even been scientifically possible.

His friend, his brother, has been tormented _for his sake!, _beyond the understood capacity of modern science?!

It was all just too much...

John gathered Sherlock closer yet...

"Ok...ok...just...You...just...shhshhoosh...go back to sleep, ok? Shut up, and go to sleep...or deeper sleep,as you seem to actually be somewhat asleep right now..Anderson will get here soon, and the bloody game will be afoot again. But I can't-right now I can't! Do you understand?...Just...let me hold you for a while, ok?...Let me hold the man who died for me in my arms, while he's still breathing..."

Sherlock leaned against John and smiled a bit, as his dream turned to something contented again,

"S'Alright...John...will be alright...Won't...won't...give in...Promised him, made...uhmmm...one of those...vow things. He'll never take the Fall...never..I'll do it...S'Alright."

"Shhhhh! No, no...not this time. Go to sleep! Please, will you just...sleep. Only asleep, for God's sakes! Not tortured, not dead, not dying, not in trouble! Just please be asleep...like a little kid, here in my arms. Wake up and snap at me; insist you're not a child, and don't need me looking after you. Go back to being you...just let all of this stop...please..."

He laid his face in his hair, and begged God to let him live. Just this once, let him live...


	9. Chapter 9 The Phoenix Called Hope

** Chapter 9: The Phoenix Called "Hope"~**

Sherlock awoke to a violent bout of vertigo, but was at least 99 percent lucid now, leaning against the train tunnel wall, still wrapped in the orange shock-blanket.

John sat beside him, laughing melodically. What about ,exactly? This was a very serious situation they were in here. Sherlock's insatiable curiosity got the better of him, wondering what had spurred that hopeful sound, wanting some of that grace to fall like cool rain on his fevered ,flint-hard brow. He lifted his head slowly to see none other than Major Sholto, standing in the center of one of the tunnel lights.

Illuminated like a Phoenix rising out of the ashes of their long-lived despair. Sherlock's breath caught, at the sign. Here this man whose life had been utter chaos, damned without cause, had been redeemed. If it was possible for this Phoenix-of-a-man, this spirit called hope, then Sherlock could be delivered too. His soul stirred to life in that knowledge, and he smiled.

"Would you look, John? Sleeping Beauty's here to grace us with his presence. Good evening. I've brought you something medicinal." Major stated ,very matter-of-factly.

And then held forth a ginormous popsicle, striped with rather loudly colored red, and blue, and yellow, and purple, and orange ,and green, and even a few pink stripes.

"Was my prize for the dance off back there. Bloody well earned it to, getting down to a beat as sick as you are, with a bum leg and all!"

"Thank...you?" Sherlock said, taking the offered popsicle, not really certain why it was "medicinal."

"Is it...is it medicated?" he asked John, brows twisting , in great confusion.

"Only with seriously large amounts of sugar!" the Major placed both hands on his hips, and his mouth formed a straight line.

"Sherlock...don't be a child. I order you to eat that. I order you to savor it like one does a Tootsie pop. You will eat it very consciously , until you have either completely devoured it, or it has melted in your hands. Are my orders clear?!"

"Sir, yes, sir, I shall do my best...sir." Sherlock gasped, exasperated, he and John both saluting. John still cracking up, his spirits lifted greatly.

"What are you laughing at ,Watson?"

"Oh, sir, nothing ,sir, just admiring your medical skills ,sir." John gasped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The Major gave a curt nod. "Oh, and, that bloke...what's his name-uhm...Amperstand...is here FINALLY to see you...Sherlock."

With that he turned to go fetch the forensic in question.

John reached an arm around Sherlock.

" You ok?" he asked, and Sherlock turned to look at him.

Could see the care-lines the last few months had added in between his eyes. Wished his face were a slate, so he could dust the trouble off of it like chalk from too many years kicking up dust. He would leave the laugh lines, the fine points, the good, and take the bad away. But maybe the bad was there to add shadow and depth, to only further illuminate his nature of light, and such profound thoughts did Sherlock regularly have when studying John's face. He shook his head, blinking.

"This poison...the nature of it. It will work in episodes. I will have lucid moments like now, and bouts where I'm unaware, possibly deranged and spouting things off. Those...will be the test moments, that was the whole point of the Game. To see if I could beat her...with my mind under-siege. If I am able to solve the hallucinations, and maintain the integrity of my confidence, as well as solve her puzzle and take her into custody, I win. In the event that I should alternate, start to give in to the hallucination...she will win, and my life...my Work, the people I care about...All is forfeit...John."

"Which is why you will solve her hallucinations no problem. No matter how psycho this poison is...you're gonna beat it. I know, I know what you can survive. I've seen it. And...a little bit ago...you were talking in your sleep. About Magnusson, or Youngblood, or whatever his name is. You were talking about his unique chemical in the fear stimulant lobe of his brain. About his master poison threat,..talking about how he turned you...into a 'porcelain doll'."

Sherlock looked horrified...

"Those...are things...I would never...have told you...willingly..."

"Well, I needed to know them, right? I need to know so I can help." his voice had taken on a lit of offense, that immediately softened,...

"You should know better by now...I'm going to be here, until the end. Going to help. And you are going to win. It's just the two of us against the world, remember?"

Sherlock laughed, pleasantly, as if the Phoenix called hope recently revived in him, took to the sky-like blue of his eyes. Life restored however briefly into his dark countenance.

"You and me against the world. Anderson up against Appledore." he said, as Major, and Mycroft lead Anderson up to him.

"Appledore?" Anderson asked, face twisted in an awkward position.

Sherlock took Anderson in, observing everything. He'd stopped messing around with Donovan, and had really reconciled with his wife, how Sherlock can deduce such things, only God and Sherlock know.

Sherlock's conclusion was that Anderson had changed a great deal since he was gone. Wondered how that would work in the grand scheme of things?

"Appledore? You wish to send him ...to Appledore?" Mycroft gasped, irritably.

"Why would Mary be leading us to New York City? We always have to be asking ourselves why,brother dear." Sherlock began, adjusting his long legs under the blanket, cocking his head in wonder at how he was going to eat the tree-sized popsicle as commanded.

"My God,this!, you could put ornaments on it, and set it up in the kitchen for Christmas! Mrs. Hudson would love that, wouldn't she?..." he hissed, irritated and delighted all at once. Peculiar, that one. He took a careful nibble of it, and looked back up at his brother, and Anderson.

"She clearly has failed to make the kill, if she came looking for Magnusson/Youngblood's body. She offered to trade her life to me, to escape him, because if she failed to kill him, then he is probably still alive, and if he is alive and she tried to kill him, then he will be coming to get revenge on her, and all that rot. She wasn't serious though, really?, a master assassin just give her life over to me, like a little dolly wrapped in ribbons? Pssh... She still wants to win, still believes she can win, was very confidant, not desperate, when we spoke to her. So, she must think she has a bargaining chip now, with us, drawing us into the game, not removing tale-tell signs of her and Irene Adler's recent New York getaway,on purpose, playing the game as usual, wanting to lead us there. And why? Ah! See, now we are forming a result! She is luring us into the trap, there's always a bigger fish, though, right? She's got Magnusson right where she wants him, he's in New York, because she's supposed to be in New York, visiting her lover who is permanently exiled to America after Karachi. What better time to come back for me, fill me with the poison that will ,eventually, temporarily drive me out of the same galaxy as my mind , and then lure me into the clutches of the king of blackmail? He'll have a weakened version of myself to toy with,...and he will forget about her. I'm her diversion; she will kill him this time, whilst he is distracted by me, take my secrets, and run back to her masters...Only, she won't be getting them. I'm not as _fragile_ as the world seems to think I am." he spat the last bit, in absolute revulsion, and took an indignant slurp of the popsicle,like a bratty little school boy would. John chuckled to himself. Frightening, charming, child-like, impossible, and utterly generous, all at once? The world couldn't afford to lose Sherlock Holmes,not again. Once more John purposed in his heart that the world would not. One can't despair when he isn't alone, and Sherlock was most definitely _not _ alone. Not this time.

"So...what do you,...want me to do again, Sherlock?" Anderson ventured.

Sherlock looked up, surprised. Never had Anderson addressed him so...humbly? Almost apologetically. As if, he were sorry for his part in his End.

"Oh, really, it's obvious ,right? Mycroft, even you can see the great benefit this will be. Whilst we are away, clapping Magnusson and Pandora, and the Woman too, all in irons, you Anderson,you , and Clearfield, and Smith and ...whoever...will be making your forensic study of the basements of Magnusson's private mansion. He may be the professional exterminator of Moriarty's reluctant hire, but he moonlights, daylights rather, as some sort of owner and influential person in media. I don't care exactly what his job is, it doesn't matter, what DOES matter, is that we prove him to be what else he is, which is the king of blackmail. We'll have enough evidence to convict him, without exposing all that he's done. Those having him locked up, possibly "hanged", without compromising national security, or ever letting his legacy be breathed abroad in light of day."

Everybody sat back, stunned by the plan.

"Yeah...so I'm...I'm looking for...evidence, hidden evidence...that he's got some kind of data base where he keeps all his blackmail, that he could just expose to the media on a whim, in his mansion?"

"Bravo, Anderson! You've apparently gotten a bit more clever since the last time I was alive."

Everybody looked stricken, by that sudden statement. Not because he had somewhat insulted Anderson at the same time as complimenting him...but also because he had just so openly expressed the fact that he had been...

John drew a shaky breath ,and Anderson clenched his fists.

"Sherlock...I'm...so sorry!" he fell to his knees suddenly, very repentant, indeed.

Sherlock swung his popsicle in the air, like a warrior-king would brandish a spear, trying to avoid its coming in contact with Anderson's scraggly beard as he groveled beside him. Reached and awkwardly, almost disgustedly, patted the top of his head.

"You...uh,...yeah...you are "forgiven" or whatever it is that people do,when they actually care what another person thinks about them, or if they are sorry for the irreversible past, and what not. Do what I'm asking of you,and I'll call it even too. Mycroft?"

Mycroft sighed, but nodded dutifully,

" Bad as I hate to admit it, you are almost always right, brother mine. Alright, I'll arrange for him to work with a stealth team of mine, and get him a search warrant, all that law rubbish. And looks like the rest of us are going on a holiday in America..."

"America? Hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza! Wonderful!" Major cried. Molly face-palmed.

"You...can buy a lot of those things...here?"

"Yes, but not the expressly fresh from the oven, bona-fide, American kind. So, right, we shall have a lovely holiday involving a great deal of hamburgers. And corn on the cob. And whatever else Americans eat and that we have time to enjoy eating ourselves, whilst Pandora is firing at us, or otherwise attempting to murder us."

John laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"God, help me...This is gonna be one LONG flight!" he wailed, into the fabric of the shock blanket, and his voice reverberated off of Sherlock's bones, making the detective shiver.

"OI! IF WE'RE GOING TO AMERICA;I'M GOING TO NEED PANTS, MYCROFT! HONESTLY!" Greg growled, fed up with the hospital gown.

"Anthea, please bring the Inspector pants...No questions." Mycroft said into his omnipresent phone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and sagged against the wall.


	10. Chapter 10 The Spirits Escape

** Chapter 10: The Spirits Escape~**

In the end, the "Game" was very short-lived.

No sooner had they touched down in New York City, than did Mary call Mycroft:

"I'd say, to give you lot a head start, we should have a meeting ,in the Subway tunnels. Explain the rules, the setting, who plays and who watches...all of that."

Mycroft laughed bitterly, "No matter how this ends ,you viper, I will burn you when it's done."

Mary purred with sadistic laughter, "But the question is ,Mycie, will you be burning Sherlock too? I can't go to hell all by myself..."

" If Sherlock is the price I have to pay for the security of the United Kingdom, know this...You will be very lucky if you do go to Hell, and so escape me."

* * *

><p>They met at the exact location Mary was, Mycroft having GPS downloaded to her phone.<p>

"Naughty..." she laughed, when they drew close to her. She winked at John who was staring daggers into her.

"Of course, that will have to be ruled out, it isn't hide and seek if you already know where I am." she laughed.

"Am I right, Sherlock?"

But Sherlock was looking past her, at Charles Youngblood, also known as Charles Augustus Magnussson.

He stopped, and his face spread in a lop-sided grin, that made John's blood go cold, because he knew _who_ Sherlock was smiling at. Maybe not from his face or reputation, but who else could he be? This was the man that had made Sherlock suffer, made him into a doll...That was all John needed to know, to know that ,before this Game was over, he would grind his bones to dust. His fists clenched, rage tearing at the reins of his muscles, like a team of a thousand Apocalypse Horses, and the rage was only reined in by the sickened horror of the look on Sherlock's face, in greeting to this sadistic man that had so brutalized him.

John held his breath. Icarus was about to surface again. As bad as John pleaded heaven for him not to, he was about to come out of the darkness in Sherlock's head again...

Sherlock giggled like an imp, and it bit like steel in the air.

"Fooled you." he said, simply, lips forming a silent "oh" ,like a child when he has done something very naughty.

"What?" Mary spat, confused.

Magnusson actually began to shuffle on his feet, unnerved by the way Sherlock was looking at him, buggy eyes blinking snake-like beneath his glasses.

"Sorry...It was such a convincing bluff...The idea for a Game...That I believed it myself. Too easy! Oh, Jim! If only you were here; to tell me how DISAPPOINTING that I am!" Sherlock laughed mockingly, looking skyward, clapping his hands together.

"Mr. Holmes...you have already...taken the poison...The Game...is happening?..." Magnusson began.

Sherlock shook his head, "Oh, but see...it's too easy! It's so EASY in fact,that you two...oh this is precious!- you two actually decided to lay down your swords and light up the peace pipe, and made some kind of bargain about what to do with my secrets when you had them,which is why you're here together, isn't it? And it's not only because this is the mother of all hallucinogens, its also, evidentially, some sort of truth serum too, I guessed as much by the effect it is having on me...You rigged the Game, and knew that you would win, because I cannot tell a lie to you, not under the influence of the perfected Akhlys poison.

Because protocol compels me,... I deleted the night of our bargain...But now it's coming back ,all clear, and you cheated...so I can't shut the door of my lips..."

Mycroft swallows, afraid that he's already lost this fight. John 's throat is aching, wondering what happens now?

What Sherlock says next makes the world seemingly come to a break shrieking, spark throwing halt.

"You precious little fools! I only made such a ridiculous bargain(damned from the outset)with you, because I knew that I was INCAPABLE of failure. There is no treasure chest full of mentally locked up secrets. IDIOTS!, There might have been once, but you forgot something very crucial ,when you made deals with me. A word of wisdom, never play cards with the Devil, you will always lose. And NEVER make deals with a Dead Man! And, by all rights, I am a dead man. The confidence you thought to glean from me...the secret details from in the deep, dark past...the images of those days, the feelings, the horror,... that all might still exist, engrained in my soul...But the information, the juicy _details, _ of a past life is wiped so clean from any storage place within my mind, it is as if it never existed. Death has a way of clearing slates..." he is rolling with laughter now.

"See...I tricked you...Pandora. There is no treasure chest, nor pot of gold, no golden key to Neverland, ...no stairway to heaven for you...I lead you right into the trap. The box..._Pandora's _ box, is full of only madness...of terrible demons you are not equipped to conquer. This is no Game. It is OPEN WAR."

And with that suddenly, Sherlock did something John would never have expected, never have even dreamed of. He lunged at Irene Adler, who was standing next to Mary silently this whole time, spun her swiftly around, pulling out a pistol she had concealed within her coat, and pointed it at her head. She let out a yelp, and her hands went to her throat, where his arm pinned her close to him.

"Shh...It's not you I mean to hurt..."he whispered to her, and Mary swallowed, realizing that she had miscalculated gravely.

"So...what?...are you going to steal my whore, and hold her for ransom?"

"No...I'm going to steal her gun." he said, and lifted the barrel away from Irene's head. Shot at the air to draw attention, shot at Mary's feet, pointed it at himself, laughing, truly insane now.

"What does it matter, anyway? All of it's meaningless anyhow? What?...no, don't look so anxious, I've already committed suicide once. It was most unpleasant." he pointed the gun at Mary now.

Irene was gasping, Sherlock still clutching her close.

"Please...whatever you do... just...please..." she began, babbling.

"Don't beg, Woman!, it's unbecoming of you. Like I said anyway; I have always been trying to save you." Sherlock hissed, with a snicker.

"What...what do you want, Sherlock?" Mary asked now, losing her nerve. Sherlock started laughing, maniacly.

"You wanted to make a deal, thought you would get something out of me, so I let you believe you would, to keep my friends safe. I don't want anything! There is nothing that you have, none of your skills, or the dirt _he _could dredge up for the Service on possible threats,... There is absolutely no bargain you can make now that will let you slither away from this, with your miserable life! You only have yourself to blame for your state of affairs; it really is your fault ,you know. The blood cried out from the ground, and consulted me, crying out for someone to get justice for them. I heard them. All of them...the blood you have spilled...

You, Pandora, never learn from history, do you? Of course, it was your destiny to unleash chaos in the world. I fooled you. You have opened my Box, and all the evil spirits have escaped. Hell spat me back out! I'm glad too, it was rather boring in the Darkness, being Dead...so boring. But you've let me out of my Box, so now it's time to play! On my terms..."

Mary swallowed, "And what...what are...those?...Why should I ...agree to them?...If I can't survive, I've got nothing to lose..."

"Don't you?"

Mary was silent, eyes going wide in terror, at the way Sherlock smiled.

"I'm going to destroy you...How is my business...But I can tell you how you can make it a better ending for yourself, and Ms. Adler here, and you too, Charles..."

Magnusson swallowed, looking like he was sick at his stomach. Sherlock was truly insane now. Icarus at his darkest...

Mary sputtered, "H-how?"

Sherlock smiled, a patronizing smile, like she should already know.

"A hair of their heads is touched...And..." he doesn't need to say what he's thinking, his eyes give it away...

"You...wouldn't. You don't have the guts..."

"I don't , you're right. Charlie ,here, ripped them out, and put them back in, all part of his little experiments, eh? Dolls are only for children though, poor fools. No more Games. Now we are grown-ups. Put up the toy swords...this is a real War...And I've learned a few tricks of the trade. I've sampled the very finest forms of torment, first hand...I can be more cruel than you can _possibly _imagine. But...if you keep your hands off them, I will keep my hands to myself ,as well."

He let Irene go. Smoothed her hair back in place for her. She shuddered, trying to fathom what exactly he was threatening, and shocked too. She knew him, once. Knew his whole family. She could tell when he was serious, and when he was only playing the Game...Such a threat, was echoingly hollow.

"See...I can be gentle too. No harm to mine; no harm to yours." Sherlock purred.

"Fair enough." Mary chewed at her lip, weighing the odds.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and smiled delightedly.

"New York City! Wonderful place for a new start,eh? I saw how the pieces were set ,before I even approached the board. You...the three of you...using your massive skill sets, have been playing the Crips and the Bloods against each other, haven't you? Come, do tell..."

"Favors...To ensure they'd play their parts , in my Game...Help me destroy you, making one massive puzzle that you just couldn't solve. I needed crime for hire; they are always available." Mary says, tilting her chin defiantly.

"Well, tell your boys I'm on my way." Sherlock said, tucking Irene's gun into his coat.

"This...is going to be LOADS of fun, Mary, darling! Ta!" he cried, and suddenly, he turned, and began marching away...disappearing into the Metropolis.

Magnusson clutched his chest..."You told me...you could guarantee a mutual benefit to both of us from this...You told me he would be weak enough! Mmm...but you are a bad girl, aren't you? I am terribly disappointed. And so, I am afraid... our agreement is off... from hence forth I shall be against you as well. " he spat at Mary.

"Oi! You've only got yourself to blame. YOU made him like THAT. Only God knows what kind of Frankenstein we've just let loose in the middle of our City!"

Magnusson turned and looked at Mycroft,

"Pity...Your brother would have made a wonderful criminal..." he said, and then he turned and marched to a long black car, disappearing himself.

Mary pulled out her phone, about to make a call to God-knows- who.

"I- I don't have to play fair. He sure won't. Make your peaces with the fact ,that Sherlock Holmes is going back in his coffin, along with all his spirits." she threatened, lips trembling, and marched to a motor cycle.

Irene stared into space.

"He could have...he could have...but he...didn't?"

"COME ON, ADLER! "

Irene stood on shaking legs, and looked at Mycroft pleadingly, as if asking him to forgive her...to save her. Then she turned away, and climbed on the back of the bike, and she and Mary were gone as well.

Mycroft was left standing there, with a small team of his agents, John Watson, Greg and Meredith Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Major Sholto, and Molly Hooper all blinking like bats let out into broad daylight,trying to process what had just happened...


	11. Chapter 11 Icarus On the March

**Chapter 11: Icarus On The March~**

"Alright, so...WHAT WAS THAT?" Greg shouted, tearing at his hair, this whole situation rattling him to his core.

Mycroft stood, phone in hand, weighing his options, trying to calculate his next move.

Sherlock has always had a nullifying effect on him. He was rendered obsolete by the horror of watching the dark creature his baby brother had become. Held himself to blame for that, having set him on this path from the very beginning. His mind was awake like a hive, trying to plot the best course of action, whilst trying to mentally rectify every wrong thing he ever did.

Leave it to the soldiers to act first.

"How do you do it?" John gasped, storming up to Mycroft, and snatching his phone.

"Sorry?"

"Put GPS on his phone. How do you do your god-like spying? I'm gonna need you to do it for me; I'm going after him!"

"John...my brother...is not in his right mind. It might be better if you-"

"Shut up!" John hissed, and looked defiantly at everyone.

"It's different, right? For you lot.. Yeah, you stand back, you watch him burn, it hurts...God-I bet it does! But... his blood isn't hanging over your heads, like it is mine! He did this-became like THAT, because he was trying to protect _me._ Sorry, I don't care. If I don't do this-my heart-" he gasps, and swallows, trying to steady himself.

"My chest is aching like a bus slammed into it! My pulse is off the chart! Sorry, but I'm not going to survive this- this bloody "Game", if I don't go after him, myself. You lot deal with playing Games, work together, like you always do. But leave Sherlock to me. Got it?"

No one had seen or heard from Captain Watson in a while. The command in his voice left even Mycroft with a compliant expression. Silently , he programmed a GPS locator for Sherlock's phone, onto John's, and passed it back to him. Major Sholto smiled; it was good to have his favorite captain back.

"Very well, Watson. Icarus is your mission, effective immediately. You will be supplied with a weeks worth of ammunition," he began, supplying John with a box of bullets that he'd had tucked inside his coat (Molly's eyes grew wide), "and an electric torch," he pulled the other article from somewhere else on his person,like it were magic. " You will speak to no one, even if they speak to you first, unless it expressly has to do with your mission. You will locate Sherlock, and you will personally guard him, intervening in whatever he is attempting to do, only when it is absolutely necessary. You will only interfere with his course of action if he should become a danger to himself or to non-combatants in this Pandora's Game. You will disengage if he becomes a threat to you. Are my orders clear? "

John saluted, "Sir, yes sir, completely clear ,sir. Except, if I may sir...your last order was not necessary. Sherlock would never harm me, not even completely off his rocker ,as he is presently, sir."

Major smiled. "Carry on, Watson. I'd better not see your pasty face again until you're towing Holmes behind you. Get lost!"

And with that, John marched into the midst of the battlefield , in search of Sherlock, or Icarus, whichever version that he found first...

"What about us? What do we do? Mycroft?" Greg gasped, wheeling on him.

"We're all going to help! I mean...we can't...all go charging off into the middle of it...like John...but...you have to let us do something...Myc!" Molly gasped, near-tears from seeing Sherlock driven out of his mind like that.

"I've got a suggestion; if anybody's up for it." Sally gasped.

"Why don't you share it with us, Sergeant." Mycroft breathed, trying to pull himself together.

"We should probably inform the NYPD what's going on here. Get them to work with us. I mean, the Americans are our friends, and we did sort of just bring one of our wars into their largest City..."

Mycroft snapped his fingers. "Ah. Brains. Yes, you seem to actually be of some use, now that you aren't so intent on destroying my brother. That is our objective, then, ladies and gentlemen. Myself, the Sergeant, the Inspector, (and his wife (who shall not be leaving his sight the entirety of the time we remain on American soil) shall go to the NYPD and explain the severity ,and confidence, of our errand. Whilst the Major and Molly shall scout out the City, and give us a full report of Morstan and Adler's location, as well as Magnusson's location, a head count of who is working on their behalf against us...And most importantly, a status report of how Sherlock and John fair on the field. And it should be noted, that Icarus is now on the March. Trouble will surround my brother, make no mistake. You must proceed with grave caution."

"I've got her, and she's got me. That's all the precaution we need, thank you , Mycroft, sir." Major laughed, wrapping an arm around Molly's shoulders.


	12. Chapter 12 To Take Down the Queen

**Chapter 12: To Take Down the Queen~**

John's thoughts are racing almost as quickly as his pulse, as he finally gets a bead on Sherlock, and follows him down the streets of New York City.

_Your moving too fast for me, mate. _

Why did it always feel like Sherlock had belonged to another world? This "Game" , John couldn't begin to figure it out. But the pit of his stomach clenched, because everything about this, not really understanding what was going on, but wanting to help, and not being allowed to , to keep him safe...It was Moriarty's Great Game all over again. The same story, a different day. The same chess board, different players. Rather than the King, there was a Queen to knock off the board. What she wanted, and why she had returned, John didn't really know. How he had ever loved a monster like Mary Morstan wasn't making sense to him either, it made him sick to his soul to think that he could have been so deceived...

_Seriously, how can you know the streets of New York so well? How is it that you can get so lost in a crowd, and yet be totally aware of where you are? How can you play these Games, make yourself do it, even when it's not you to be so cruel?...I know you. Your bark is a lot more bitter than your bite. You might say bloody awful things, but you are honest to God and a fault...you would never have hurt Irene Adler to get Mary to do what you want, whatever that is precisely. You would never hurt anyone for spite...So, why are you doing this? Always trying to save me...Why do you love me so much, when other people have only ever used me like a pawn in their stupid little "Games" , the rules of which I don't understand half the time..._

John has a knack for loving monsters, he realizes. If anybody was ever looked down upon like some Frankenstein's creation, it would have been Sherlock Holmes. It was people,and their misplaced hero-worship, it was people and their BIG talk, that had pushed Icarus up to the great heights, to the Sun of fame, that had burned his wings. It was people and their opinions, their misunderstandings, their blind hatred that had lead Sherlock, the human, the mortal , believe it or not fallible person, to his Fall. It was God Himself who brought him back for a second round, had to be...

_What's going on in your head right now? Where are you going?What are you doing this for?...Why do you always try to save me, even when that damns yourself?_

_Why can't I help you, Sherlock? Why won't you just come clean to me?..._

Somebody slams into John, and he turns back trying to see who it was, suddenly angry, and somebody else almost knocks his phone out of his hands. He catches it mid-air with a little gasp,sick to think that he almost lost his only line of contact to Sherlock in the entire Big Apple. Poisoned Apple too, he realizes. Something is going on here, a design that's been in the making for probably centuries. BIG Game, John realizes. He may not have understood what they were talking about, but he heard what they were saying. Mary has somehow involved the Crips and the Bloods in her little crime-solving contest.

The poison seemed unfair. Weaken Sherlock, put his mind in a frenzy, put him on equal monstrous level with herself , and then single him out against Charles Magnusson, (who apparently had all the world's dirty laundry at his disposal, and could summon any number of demons back from Sherlock's private Hiatus-hell to use in this Game), as well as the entire New York City mob.

One man. Never mind it was the great and terrible "Icarus, King In Terror". John despised the title, anyway. Remembered how frail, how tired of all of this, Sherlock had been back in Finland. That had only been a couple of months ago, but it seemed like an Eternity now, after what happened on Baskerville Island, and then the chaos of the last few days...

_ I love you...You realize that ,don't you? I would do anything to save you too...And I mean to. But...you know, I am just an ordinary person. There's not much I can do when it comes to wars in high places, and crazy games between you, Pandora, and Mount Olympus. I'm just a doctor, and the only battlefield I know is the hot and sandy Afghanistan..._

_But I love you, Sherlock. Despite it all...And if I can help you, somehow... By God, if I have to let all my blood...I'm going to save you. I know, it's crazy, probably stupid too... Really, what can I do? I have no idea, no clue, no lead at all...Sorry, I'm just not as smart as you are! I love you, and ... that's all I've got. Guess it will just have to be enough..._

Right then he realizes he is standing on the same street as the locator icon says Sherlock is on.

He looks up, frantically scanning what horizon he can see over people.

There, in the midst of the crowd, a man in a flowing dark cloak, with a pale white face, a jet black hair. A man that's marching on The Mission Fatal.

John calls him name, and runs.

Sherlock doesn't look back, doesn't hear him, or if he does he won't acknowledge him. This is his War, and he had to do it alone. Nothing irks John more than Sherlock's stubborn, "solo mio" attitude.

Sherlock throws the door open to an old run down apartment like building from back in the tenement days. It's in a more Italian part of town, John makes a note of that.

He slips in through the same door Sherlock went through, going completely unnoticed.

Sherlock storms in to the middle of a room full of men, dressed in red clothes, and suddenly starts making hand motions, and John realizes its probably a gang symbol. For the wrong gang. One of the members stands up and growls,

"Yo-fool. You must me dawg( multicolored words) crazy to (multicolored words) show yo' pasty face in here! This is CK turf. My dominion."

"Musta had a death wish..."purred a girl, who's head was shaved completely bald, a tatoo on the back of her head.

Sherlock flashes the gang symbols, for all the different American gangs, and a few for other gangs in foreign countries. Then he spins a seat around, knocking a teen out of it, and props both of his feet on the table, where they were all apparently playing cards, though its a long cafeteria style table.

"I don't really care what you call yourselves...Or what you do, or what you think you know...About crime...About war...About death..."

A thousand thousand guns train on Sherlock,

"I'm about to shoot yo' limey ( a rather fruity arrangement of some colorful swear jargon) . You heard me, fool? I'm about to jack you up!"

Sherlock chuckles, darkly. John holds his breath, leaning against the wall.

"Take it easy, general. I haven't come to start a War with you. It would be a waste of my time. I've actually only come for information. Consider this a sort of parley before I burn you all."

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" the Leader shouted, and shot at Sherlock, grazing the table.

Sherlock started picking at the spot the bullet had torn up smokey splinters, with a smirk on his face.

"People and their guns...You know I can do more damage with a cigarette lighter, and a bottle of brandy than you can with every one of these illegal firearms you have stored in this, your grandmother's apartment, that she only lets you live in to keep you from being out on the street, because you are an on and off heroin addict, -trust me, I know the shakes. But if you have to ask who I am...does the name James Moriarty mean anything to you?"

The Leader blanched,..."The King?...The King of Crime?...He's...dead. Offed himself. Why?"

"Why, indeed? You should probably have been informed, their was a contest to conclude who should be his successor, and I was chosen unanimously. I am Icarus, current Reigning King. And what do kings do? They call courts. Right. So, apparently someone let that witch Pandora out of her box, I'd say about a year ago. She struck a bargain with me...and claims she has involved you lot-mmm, must have more confidence than I do, getting children to bring their toys to the playground. What she obviously didn't tell you was that she's stacked the deck ,folded a Joker into the cards. Pandora ...has called on The Exterminator to be the mediator in this Game. She didn't tell you, am I wrong?"

The gang-leader, (and John guessed he was probably a Blood by the all red clothes he was wearing), was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Who...are you? How do you know all that? ...And exterminator...you mean...THE Exterminator?!"

"There is only one though, right?...Who am I? The name is Sherlock Holmes."

The Leader shook his head, lips blue and quivering now.

"YOU'RE DEAD!" he shouted, truly disturbed now. Every gun had lowered, the Bloods listening intently now.

"I was. Now, skipping to the important details. I have come to explain the rules of this Game to you, to make it a fair game, if only because my mother always wanted me to be a gentleman, and I would hate to disappoint her.I will also inform your rivals, the Crips, as there can be no advantages in an unbiased game. The rules are simple, as set forth by Pandora herself. I am the target. She wants me, for my secrets. To equalize the Game, -make it a fair fight-she has shot me up with the master poison, you've probably heard of Akhlys?"

Everyone in the room's jaws drop, like they will be sick. John is holding his breath, knowing this could be his last chance to understand what is really going on, so that he can help.

"So, you have..Good. Well ,the injection was given around 14 hours ago now, so that gives us about a window of 1 day and 10 hours to prove ourselves, ladies and gentlemen. Basically this is how it works. You go forth, and do what you do best, which is wreak havoc, for Pandora's hire. Under the influence of Akhlys, I am to solve your puzzles, and so foil her plans. Every time I solve the puzzle, I turn the responsible party in for it, that eliminates a player, a pawn, moves me up the board, closer to the Queen. Morstan, your Queen, when I solve the crime she actually intends to commit with aforesaid secrets, when I've ratted her out, and turned her in to my masters, I win. If I spill my guts, or fail to solve her puzzle within the next 34 hours, before the poison renders me sub-human, then she wins. So, really, the Game is like chess...really nothing new on the Earth, is there?"

Slowly he stands up. "Leave you to it then. Make it a challenge for me, would you, I am getting bored." he winked, and turned on his heel, and walked outside, John slipping up behind him.

For a moment Sherlock stood blinking in the sun, clutching at the place the needles had gone in, trying to breathe. He could feel the potency of the serum swimming through his veins. It wouldn't be long before it was overtaking him, like Mr. Hyde bursting out of Dr. Jekyll's skin. He bowed his head, trying not to look directly at the sun, his eyes darkened by the poison whose namesake was the Lady of Eternal Night, making him ultra photo-phobic.

He was just reminding himself who he was doing all of this for, when he heard John's voice quietly behind him.

"Ok, so the rules are simple enough, after all. A bit of a headache at first, with all that talk, but now I'm actually sort of looking forward to it."

Sherlock wheeled around and was face to face with the man he was repeatedly selling his soul out for.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, sounding more offended than he was.

"What I'm always doing...Just helping. The Game's afoot right?" John laughed, smiling kindly at Sherlock, whose face had fallen.

Suddenly, neither of them expecting to , or understanding why exactly they did, they embraced.

"It's alright. You've already got all the advantages, poison or no." John muttered.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock gasped, exasperated.

John took him by the shoulders, and leaned back, with a mischievous grin.

"You're Sherlock Holmes. That's the only advantage that you need."


	13. Chapter 13 Desperate Men

** Chapter 13: Desperate Men and Desperate Games~**

John held his breath.

The Crips didn't receive as "unbiased" and "fair" a warning as the Bloods did. But there was no gang partiality here, it was only that Sherlock Holmes had grown impatient, as the poison rendering him practically accursed would now unleash its pent-up rage.

Here they stood, in the park on Riverside. To clarify, John was standing on solid ground, and Sherlock was beside him, seeming to emanate darkness in this broad-daylight scene.

" If you need to ask how I found you, I merely solved my way to your haunt." Sherlock purred, holding up the end of a power-cord.

Before him, hanging by the backs of their shirts,along the edge of the bridge that ran alongside Donald Trump's add-in to Riverside South, coat hooks affixed to their belts, were 20 members of the Crips, the leader of the entire organization in New York City in the center, dangling like a worm on a fish hook. They were wrapped in live wires not yet hooked to an electrical outlet, as well as cocooned in Christmas lights, that Sherlock had already lit up making them easy to see in the day or night. He'd taken the materials from their own hide-outs, that he had looted for the last 3 hours, only adding insult to injury.

John held his breath, astonished. Sherlock Holmes has just completely busted up the drug operation of the Crips in New York City, within the last 3 HOURS.

"This...this has been exhilarating. I'd rather like to let the dogs out more often, for a good run..." Sherlock smiled, teeth barring white and savage, the man turned wolf, a creature of the night. The leader of the Crips was shaking,

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, AND WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"I've come to negotiate the terms of Pandora's game."

All 20 gang members got eerily quiet, and Sherlock continued, drawing up pompously, exuding a victorious air over them, to keep their jaws clamped shut. John swallowed, wondering how this ended.

Sherlock was completely unleashed. Not "out of control". John was amazed by the amount of resistance he was showing to this poison.

But in a single afternoon, and in the time it had taken them to leave from the tenement Blood's hideout to the park here in Manhattan, he had practically deduced the life-story of every citizen of New York City they had crossed paths with, as if they were all just pieces in the Game. He had eliminated ones that were just "pawns" and had very quickly identified ones that were actual combatants. Out of crowds of thousands, within less than 5 minutes John saw Sherlock single out members of the Crips from the Bloods. He had ended whole gang wars, acts of terrorism, drug operations,robberies...It was his entire career captured in a window of 3 hours...

"I gave your rivals the first warning, but rest assured... Because I gave them first warning, I rounded up their thugs for arrest first. So far I have eliminated around 300 of them from the opposing drug operation. The police most likely are already responding to the "tips" I've left them. While they are otherwise engaged, it's time for our little council. You will have to understand...time is growing short. We now have 31 hours left before the Ahkyls Hour strikes. And I'm not a patient man. I'm going to warn you, and eliminate you at the same time."

"Eliminate...?" asked the leader, thinking he was about to die.

"From the Game..don't be stupid! I may be utterly cruel, but I do have an extent of morality! Not to alarm you, but it isn't a vast extent...So, we'll just have to do it like this."Sherlock smiled, waving the cord in the air.

"You're going to be arrested, and eliminated from the Game. I have all the evidence of your trade with the drug bosses in Turkey strown out, and stick-note labeled here at your feet. Saves time in the court case, saves me time as I have "bigger fish to fry" as the expression goes. A rather large fish indeed,- The Exterminator himself is my focus...he's the big fish in this rather small pond..."

"You...you're talking about NEW YORK CITY, fool! How is that a little pond...?!"

John looked at Sherlock with a renewed sense of concern. After this, how could he go back to the way he was? His eyes were filled with a strange bluish hue caused by the poison, that had heightened all of his senses, giving him a moment's advantage. The hallucinations, the part of the serum meant to slow him down, put him on equal fields with the Queen, hadn't begun to release its active ingredient yet. That is when true madness would set in. For now he was only raving, like a tiger in an aquarium. Fish out of water, cat off the land, processing everything much too fast. For a moment elysium, the very thing that he craved, the thing he was addicted to ,thrill itself. When he crashed from this all-time high, what would happen to him? Sherlock had abused drugs in the past. Never mind that it was a forced addiction, he had still been an addict, and this was still his one weakness,the need to be stimulated, the need to fuel his overly powerful mind. When he crashed, would he sink into a depth of depression and boredom from whence he could not rise again?

Or worse, and perish this thought!, but John couldn't help but think it?

What if Sherlock became addicted to the very thing that was killing him? What if he had come to enjoy this visit with Akhlys just a little too much? Would the Lady of the Night claim his dearest friend at last? Would the third death be the charm?

No.

John wouldn't allow it. He had the power to save Sherlock. He was his conductor of light. And as long as light exists, utter darkness does not. He was not going to let this blackness, this Icarus he had become, take him.

In the end, when the Akhlys hour was over, John was going to have Sherlock standing beside him. As Sherlock. If any one died that night, it would be Icarus, gone back to his mistress in the belly of Hades.

John smiled at the thought of losing Icarus. It would be good riddance.

"Because there won't be so many fish left in the sea, when I'm rid of all her pawns! The police are apt to find you soon; there's no getting down from this device, I've tested too many of these first hand not to rig it right. Your career as a crime-lord is done, justice is coming to glean you, all in a day's work...But there's still time to hurt you...No,not just for fun. I may be a monster...but even beasts have to feed. I am ravenous for information...You will tell me what you know about Pandora and the Woman...Tell me what they are plotting to do here. It will save me quite a bit of time in eliminating the Queen from the Game..."

"AH,So you think I'm just going to tell you, and you win just that easy, right? If its supposed to be a game, there are rules though ,aren't there? Aren't you supposed to be the great detective and all that stuff? Aren't you supposed to go to her ,and have some dramatic conversation, and then guess? You rat her out, she drinks poison, or sticks a dagger in between her tits, and the cops don't come after her-just like in the movies?"

Sherlock laughed, a bout of dark laughter. " You have honestly bought into that illusion?"

"Well, there are criminals. That's me. People who grease the wheels,and keep the enterprise running. Like an engine. Something that real people, in a real world with real lives actually use. Then there are people like...you and Morstan...the Woman and this Exterminator guy...All Shakespear, cloak and dagger stuff, that never happens to real people. A load of Hollywood dramatic bull...I know all about you, Sherlock Holmes. How could you have possibly survived all of that stuff they did to you?It's all make-believe, to make weaker minded people scared. Well not me...I'm not buying it...I'm not playing this game..."

Sherlock nodded darkly,"I see...Real people in their real lives...have never witnessed the realm of evil from Ahklys kingdom, and never felt a twinge of pain like it, and so it's all make-believe. Because you haven't seen hell...hell doesn't exist. I might have shared your sentiment,...once..."

Suddenly he put the power cord together, and all 20 of the men hanging from his contraption were wriggling in electrocution. A moment of excruciating pain, that made John gape in horror.

But only a moment. Sherlock may have become this utterly dark thing, but he wasn't totally without mercy. In the end, trapped inside Icarus' broken bones and burned wings, there still haunted the spirit of Sherlock Holmes before he had fallen. A good man...despite what people said. He pulled the cord apart again, and waited for the leader to get done throwing up and crying from pain.

"But now you see the forest for its trees...don't you? Now you understand...that evil really is in the world, just in the dark where you can't see it. That it does exist...and people like me exist to stop it. To keep it in the dark, to keep simple fools like you from opening Pandora's box. Because whilst you might think that crime is just a machine, the longer you live off of credits, the more debt you accrue to your masters. These invisible men that you serve, are more devious than you can possibly imagine. Rejoice that I found you first; that I'm turning you in. That I gave you a taste of the pain that they created. I did it to save your life... as well as the lives that I care about. Because I was a man once, and I do care...I know exactly what realm of Pain that is, never mind that I can't feel it any more. You are going to tell me what Pandora is planning, for your own sake. Because you are human too... I know what it's like...There's someone that you want to protect too, isn't there? Once you've had even a taste of the Pain, you will never be right again, but you can spare her...your fiancee..the ring on your finger gave it away. Pandora solicits young girls...please...you've got to tell me what she's doing...whatever you know...I may know _HOW_ to hurt you, but I don't necessarily enjoy doing it...I'm trying to help you...and I need your help to..."

The man coughed, and looked up...face twisted in wondering pain...

"You did...that...to me...in order to help me?!..."

Sherlock swallowed, "The stories...about me...are all true. And there's a lot more that isn't in a story, because it was too terrible to share with the world. Pandora will open that box though, and it won't just be me she destroys this time. Innocent lives, people that we brought into our games...just because they made the mistake of caring for us...Love...a very human mistake...the most vicious motivator. Yes, I'm trying to help you, if only because there are people I am viciously desperate to save..."

The Crip Leader nodded...

"There's a guy...you need to talk to...That works in the Empire State Building..."

Sherlock nodded,

"I'm listening..."


	14. Chapter 14 And Desperate Wars

** Chapter 14: And Desperate Wars~**

The New York Armada came sweeping in off the streets, like a flock of angry ravens, come to devour the fallen beast.

"Terrorist." was the word passing up through the ranks of the NYPD. Sherlock had made his presence known before Mycroft could get to them, and had caused quite an uproar on the streets of Manhattan.

"Excuse me, general!" Mycroft cried, from somewhere across Riverside Park.

Police Chief Morgan Honors stood gaping up in horror at 20 notorious Crips, with their hair standing on end from partial electrocution, wrapped in Christmas lights. All of their criminal operations, for the last 10 years, had been solved, physical evidence such as notes, and phones with the pictures still on them, and actual bags full of illegal substances were littered on the ground beneath their feet, just for anybody to walk by and gawk at.

Within 3 hours New York City had been turned upside down, and all of their gangs bloody shirts and smoke stained laundry was lying just for passer by to see ,on the lawn in Riverside Park.

"Look who the Devil dug up!" Honors cried, with a low whistle. "Sandy Blanchard. We've been looking for you for 7 years, kid. So how is it that you show up hanging off the bridge today. Beginning to look a lot like Christmas ,boy!" the other cops started to laugh.

"It was Sherlock Holmes ,sir. And I'll answer any questions you have, come in without any fuss...I'm more afraid of that guy, and those guys he's crossed swords with than I am the entire United States Supreme Court."

"Oh, is that so? Yes, we've already heard others like you report that citing that terrorist this afternoon. Well rest assured, we're under orders to fire on him upon sight. We'd just like to know if you have any idea what he's here for!"

"Chief Honors!" Mycroft shouted.

All eyes turned to see him, as he came striding across the lawn, like a panther up from the shadows.

"Excuse me, don't think we've met? Also ,this is a crime scene. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, quietly. Don't want to make a scene do we?"

"I'm afraid my brother has already done that for me ,sir. "Mycroft gasped, with a bit of an indignant air at being treated like a civilian.

"Your brother?"

"I am Mycroft Holmes, an official in the security of the United Kingdom. You may not be aware but my brother, Sherlock Holmes, the only extant consulting detective, is my personal consultant in dealing with criminal activity that exceeds the capabilities and jurisdiction of the layman police officer, such as yourself, sir. I was hasting on my way to inform you of the nature of his current mission, but it seems as though America does not operate under so strict policies of protocol as we do in my country. Sir,I would advise you to send word up the chain of command that Sherlock Holmes is -shocking as it may seem-not a hostile, and should not be fired upon. As a matter of severe fact, his elimination could start a World War."

The police chief blanched. "What...are you trying to tell me, Mr. Holmes?"

Just then Greg Lestrade came running up behind them, dressed now in normal clothes, his wife hand cuffed to him. Sally Donovan came running up, a mobile phone lit up in her hand.

"Mycroft!" she cried, "Anderson has sent you a voice mail. It turns out Sherlock was right about Appledore, about all of it! And its worse-far worse, than anybody dared believe!"

Mycroft turned to her, brows drawn tightly. The police chief was shaking his head. Greg took opportunity,and reached and shook his hand.

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, New Scotland Yard, at your service ,sir. Sherlock is my consultant on more run-of-the mill business,and I'll be happy to give you the crash course on how to work with him. Basically he's pretty easy to work with-does most of the hard work for you and all-you just have to resist the urge to punch him, ...rather frequently."

"Yeah-right. World Wars-personal consultants- Appledore end of the world something and-WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Everyone paused trying to catch their breath, some of them looking not so certain themselves. Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Chief Honors...when you became the police chief of the whole of New York City, I am right in assuming, that you had to do a great many required tests and studies on the fields of different illegal drugs floating about the Metropolis, is this correct?"

"Well, yeah, I mean it'd be crazy not to know that! What does that got to do with anything?!"

"How much , if anything, do you know about Serum 51?"

The Police Chief turned green around the gills.

"Oh...my God..."

Mycroft swallowed, "The thief that broke into Area 51 and stole the ingredients that would make up the serum? The same thief that was reported sighted in Cancun? If I am right, then there would have been a warning from higher up sent to all the U.S major cities to prepare for a full-scale drug-induced terrorist attack. Am I wrong in assuming this?"

" No. You are right. But still...what is going on, Mr. Holmes? What does all of this have to do with your brother?

Mycroft seemed suddenly agitated, as if he was trying to keep the ice of his demeanor from thinning around a hot and grievous offence he has recently received.

"Only that I must require it of you not to eliminate the man that is responsible for diverting that would-be terrorist attack. Sherlock was investigating the notorious self-appointed King of the World Wide Mafia, James Moriarty at the time this thief broke out of Area 51. My people sent Sherlock to Mexico to locate the thief's whereabouts, and to solve the criminal intent behind his actions. Our people lost surveillance of this doomed mission when my brother arrived in Cancun. We only recovered him afterwards, when he made his way somehow to Guadalajara. He later reported that he had "tricked" the thief into revealing his intentions, and we were able to neutralize the current problem. The man was intending to cause an epidemic of what is called Hyper Induced Sclerosis, a drug-induced disease that renders the tissue egg shell like,making it very susceptible to breakage like bones. He tested it on my brother, and proved that it would indeed be possible. And thus would have rendered the full-scale populace of the United States, a "porcelain doll"people. We were able to release a chemical derived at one of our own military test sites called Baskerville, that would chemically react with the drug he intended to release, and so render it benign. We left off pursuing the Area 51 thief because he had stolen chemicals that were confidential to US security,and our meddling would have been a breach of confidence to this information, and so could potentially cause a war between us. It was for this reason, and also because my brother believed that he had killed the thief, (who is sometimes in gang circles referred to as "The Exterminator" for his skills in harvesting super-toxins) whilst he was attempting to escape him, that he we left off pursuit of him at that time.

What my brother did not tell me at that time, because it would have compromised the security of the United Kingdom, as well as my life, and the lives of others of our personal contacts, was that the Exterminator had been making deals with a rogue MI6 assassin, and influential member of the feminist cult "Pandora" , known to us by the alias of "Mary Morstan", for their mutual gain of confidential information, locked away by technique, within my brother's mind. The stolen drugs from the American base were mixed together into a potion known by the name of the "Akhlys Serum".

So it was that my brother actually had not "tricked" the thief into revealing his intentions, but had rather made deals with him,and with the assassin that had devised so devious a plot,to play a sort of contest of skill sets for this confidential information. It has served the purpose of diverting these mentioned acts of terrorism and murder of those he loves,but it came to him with a price. What you witness in your city today, is that price...

The assassin returned yesterday afternoon,and injected the Akhyls serum directly into my brother's heart. Many hours have passed since then, and 33 hours remain before the poison reaches its full potency, what is known by toxin-mixers as the "Akhlys Hour." My brother has and will have moments of lucidity and moments of sheer madness leading up to this hour of truth, as you may call it. His lucid moments have been hyper aware, and, as the nature of my brother's skill set works, he thus has been able to solve the criminal activity that has plagued your city for going on 10 years, in a matter of 3 hours. That should tell you two things, 1) the extremity of my brother's abilities, and 2) the nature of the poison that he is under.

If we do not act in a means to accommodate my brother's exploits, in his poison weakened state , we run the risk of forfeiting information of security to one of the most notorious psychopaths the world has ever been misfortunate enough to harbor, as well as the clever assassin that is his puppet, though she herself is unaware of it. What is more this Exterminator, known in the public sector by the alias of Charles Augustus Magnusson, has entrenched himself in media, and has taken his accrued information of confidence,and mentally, (and possibly in a physical storage file as well) stock-piled it, to use in ultimate blackmail. If we don't assist my brother in his mission,we run the risk of being responsible for World War 3...These are the facts, Chief Honors...Now,...what are we going to do about them?"

Honors stood blinking for a moment, trying to process all that he was hearing.

"Sounds like we're going to War, Mr. Holmes. A street war, a desperate one...But it's either Manhattan or our battlefield is the World...I choose Manhattan, maybe because this is home."

And with that he started shouting orders to his men on a megaphone.

"I would like to speak to you privately ,Sergeant, about Anderson's message." Mycroft gasped, taking Sally aside.


	15. Chapter 15 That Burn Our Kingdoms Down

** Chapter 15: That Burn Our Kingdoms Down~**

Molly Hooper stood on West 34th Street, using binoculars to look up to the very top of the Empire State building, mouth gaping in horror.

"So...so all of this...is really going ...down now, is it, Major?"

The Major stood leaning heavily on his omnipresent cane that was always with him, so iconic a part of his person, that mostly people forgot about it.

War. It weighed heavy on him. His whole life was defined by its scars. His past was written in the blood of young men he couldn't save, his present hung on the thin Fate Threads of young men he was trying to save.

His future was untold yet. Would it be written in the blood of John Watson, and Sherlock Holmes?

They have found Mary Morstan. And the Woman.

The Woman has gotten a job in one of the many offices of the building. By Mary's orders, she has been trying to seduce one of the Empire Realty employees that is involved in a city-wide gang Ponzi scheme, getting him to share the wealth for favors. Mary herself has hidden somewhere on the 86th floor, using the observation deck as a place to set up her sniper tools, spying on her hires, eliminating ones that fall out of line.

Only there aren't so many of her hires left to even worry about breaking ranks.

It has taken Sherlock a fraction of the time she anticipated it would to figure her out .

She thought the poison would immediately weaken him. But at the stage of the poison its original mixers called "The Twilight"it has only made him stronger.

"Yes, Molly. And it appears as though there is nothing we can do about it. The board is set. The pieces are already moving. Sherlock is a step ahead of the Game as always, and is about to close in on the Queen's knight."

Molly nodded, "So the man that we saw Irene..."

She couldn't finish her sentence.

It absolutely disgusted her what she had seen Irene doing with the man in the office on the 90th floor. She tried not to let her mind go there, tried not to think about how Irene had intended to seduce Sherlock into such things too. She was very proud of her friend, that he couldn't be tricked, couldn't be trapped, couldn't be corrupted despite the desperate attempts of the entire world to do so.

She could see him now too, away in the crowd, standing out against the crowd, John Watson beside him. Coming down the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. Coming this way. About to storm the Mistress' self-proclaimed castle.

Molly's breath catches, and her hand shakes on the binoculars she's holding ,as she realizes what it is that makes Sherlock so invincible.

It is the man walking beside him.

John's head is held high, unable to really see over all the throngs of people. He doesn't know where they are going, exactly. He doesn't really know what is going on either; Sherlock is really the only other player in this Game with Pandora...

For John all he needs to know is that Sherlock is in some sort of serious trouble. And if legions of demon-strong criminals, and all the poison-traps from here to Hell ,to the moon and beyond stand in their way, he is going to help. By God, he is going to help him. Because he is his friend. And that's what friends do, they protect people.

Molly suddenly loves John ,with all her heart ,for that. And her heart prays that Sherlock will be saved. Not just for Sherlock's sake, not just for her own sake, not just for the world's sake, not just for God's sake!

But for John Watson's sake.

Because John couldn't survive losing Sherlock a third time. The first time was utterly impossible, to the point that he had psychogenically wiped it from his mind.

When Sherlock fell from Bart's, it had been like an endless nightmare. John was dead, a prisoner in his own body, not allowed to leave. Molly remembered...

But now, after knowing he had died for him? That right now this terrible place he found himself in was only for the purpose of saving his life?

Sherlock has become so much more than a friend to John. And to Molly to, she realizes. Now he is a brother to them both. Now he is a vital part of their world. As much as the earth needs rivers, the sky needs a sun, the trees need air, so much did they NEED him to survive this.

It was like the Major had read her thoughts.

"Not to worry, Molly , my dear girl. We have already won."

"What...what do you...mean?"

"Because we need to win, because it is absolutely vital to our own lives as well as Humanity that we prevail against this Pandora, we will. Victory is our only choice now."

"But...how? What exactly are we going to do?"

"We have orders to tell Mycroft where Pandora, the Woman, Sherlock and John are. But in this innovative age, we needn't return to him to give our report. I shall send him a message,with all of the specifics that you recite to me. And then we will close in on the boys. I don't know what service we can be to Sherlock now; he seems to know what he's about, and doesn't need help doing it. But we can be there for him in the end...whatever the end is going to be. It seems to me that this is it, that terrible day when we burn our kingdoms down..."

Molly nodded, with a sudden mischievous smile,

"I never really much liked princesses anyway...you know? Sherlock and me...we always wanted to be pirates...when we were little..."

They watched then as Sherlock and John swept into the Empire State building, conversing with one of the tour guides to declare that they were actually here on business, and disappeared into the glass castle that would mark the end of Icarus' crusade.

The Major drew a heavy breath.

"This is the end of crowns...The thrones are coming down today...To be honest I'm glad to witness the end of criminal aristocracy..."

And with that he pulled out his mobile,

"Alright, Molly, girl. Let's get to work then..."


	16. Chapter 16 The Time Has Come

**Chapter 16: The Time Has Come~**

Irene screams when the door tears open.

For a moment Sherlock and John stand there ,faces twisted in utter disgust at what they have just witnessed. To know that Irene Adler was a world-renowned whore was one thing, but to actually have caught her in the act...

"I think-think I'm actually gonna be sick..."John gasped leaning against the wall.

His eyes grew wide when he saw the look on Sherlock's face.

"Irene, I will ask you only once to get to your feet."

"I'm not answering any of your questions ,Mr. Holmes. I don't care if you torture me...I'm far more terrified of Pandora and the Exterminator than a silly fool with a grudge like you..."

Sherlock nodded, absent mindedly. John could tell that his lucid moments were beginning to fade away. It had taken them longer to get to this office than they would have liked. 31 hours remained till the Akhlys hour strikes.

The time of trouble had come now. John was a doctor, he had a sixth sense about these sorts of things. They were losing Sherlock, and soon, the Game would truly begin.

"Which is fine; I'm not here to talk to you." he hissed. Then he reached, the poison rendering him super-human strong, to the electrical outlets on the wall. His fingers clawed the plastic protective cover off, and he ripped the light switch out, took a fist full of power cords, and began to pull them out of the wall like whips.

Came to the Ponzi scheming man he had literally caught with his pants down, that was still lying on the floor, and pressed his heel into the bottom of his throat.

" I will not speak to you, until you have pulled up, zipped, and buttoned your trousers."

With a cowardly squeak the man obeyed. Sherlock eased up off his throat.

"Do you know...who I am?"

"I've got a feeling I'm about to?"

"Somewhat clever...Might be of use...You ..are working for Mary Morstan. You are the one who has guaranteed she is able to use the observation deck on floor 86 for her snipe-scoping purposes. You have laundered money from the Empire Realty company to the myriad gangs I put out of commission,oh within the last 3 hours...You were just about to send out another transaction to Morstan's bosses in Europe. It's just that easy...the Pandora have embedded themselves in Seville. Want to know how I know that? Irene's lingerie gave it away. It's made of a Sevillian fabric, clearly a recent gift from the home-front. So it seems I have solved it all then...Irene has set up a headquarters for her mistress here in the Empire city of the United States, where she has been permanently exiled since that little business in Karachi. She immediately went back to making mischief,started climbing the lattice, until she reaches your office, and finds that this is where all the money and wishes are coming from, like a proper little Christmas elf you are!"

Sherlock jerks the electrical cords, with a powerful jerk that pulls some of the light fixtures out of the ceiling. Irene gasps, panting, terrified of Sherlock, and guilty too, knowing that she has him to thank for her life, and he very well is capable of taking the life he spared away.

"You'd best start talking, and DON'T bore me! I can feel Akhlys sinking her teeth into me now..I've only got a moment or two left in my own mind. It's all pretty clear. You are the bread and butter for Morstan's operation, the Woman is the reason why, it doesn't take my skills to see what her role is... The headquarters Pandora has been reporting back to are in a wealthy sector of Seville in Spain; that fabric is rare and expensive! Don't have to ask you if I got anything wrong...the stimulation...I know I'm right...It's MADDENINGLY easy...But if you don't wish to be brought down to my level- because I've got all the time I need to make you BURN...You will tell me what Morstan really means to use this building for...What is the crime that she planned in this City?"

"Isn't this cheating...on the Game?"

Sherlock bit down into the power cords until he exposed live wires that prickled and hissed like vipers in his hands...

"I am a demon...Did you expect me to play fair?"

The man squeaked..."Oh...Oh My God, alright-alright, just, don't burn my nose!..It's the building itself. She plans one epic, master act of terrorism from this building. She's not going to blow it up or anything. She means to make it into a funeral pyre of sorts for some guy named Sherlock Holmes...Burn him on the very top of it...With all these people trapped inside. They say that the dope they've got him strung out on, is a thousand times more powerful when its heat released. It will turn New York City into a regular Bedlum! A Metropolis sized Psychiatric Ward!"

Sherlock smiled..."All in the name of one man?"

"Really, seriously! I didn't want to help her! This guy, he called himself..uh...Youngblood. He's using her for her to burn the building...show how Wicked Witch scary she is to the whole world...But he owns something big in media..I really didn't know...seriously..I just..I just keep books, ok?..He meant to kill her on live tv or something...him and his reporter girlfriend...think her name was something like Kitty..Kitty Reilly! that was it..."

Sherlock nodded as everything clicked into place.

"When he killed the world's most notorious terrorist on live tv, he meant to declare himself the devil. He has like all this blackmail stored up some place ..that he's gonna broadcast to everyone. It will tear down all the well-built world-wide security, and start some kind of crazy anarchy war. He's basically a Hitler wannabe, with like extreme toxin savvy...I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE!"

He whimpered suddenly knowing what would happen to him now that he spilled. Irene gasped...

"Oh Sherlock... be a dear and kill him. When Mary finds out that he's spilled his guts to YOU...it will be more merciful what you're planning on doing with the cords..."

"MERCY?!" Sherlock suddenly spat and looked up.

"Oh my God!" John gasped.

Sherlock's eyes had gone milky... A dark blue, the pupils almost hidden completely.

He was foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, forcefully jutting his teeth out like fangs...Into the midst of the foamy spit there was also streams of blood.

"IT'S TIME!" he roared and wrapped the cords around the bookkeepers neck ,electrocuting him until he lay still, groaning eyes blinking stupidly at the ceiling...

"WANT A WAR, DO YOU?! YOU'VE GOT ONE!" Sherlock shouted, and ,suddenly, he leaped up into the place where the light fixtures were wired,and the building's vent system.

With superhuman strength, he began to tear his way upward.

John was left staring at Irene, who stared back gaping.

"You wanna put some clothes on? And then, find me a first aid kit. We've got to tend to this bloke, and get some medics here. Mycroft's got the NYPD behind us; this War won't last so long. Specially since I'm going to spill to them about everything..."

Irene stared.

"You heard me! Come on!"

"You're not going to kill me?I mean...you could...?"

"Your not the one who turned my friend into Frankenstein. No, I'm not killing anyone. But if I have to go to Akhlys herself for a chance at him; I will take Magnusson down with my own two hands!"

Irene swallowed at the determination on John's face.

"What about...Sherlock? ...Are you going to go after...him?"

John sighed..."This spell won't last for too long. If I go after him now, like this...He could get hurt...I could get killed. Lives could be put at risk. I've got GPS on him...I-I know what I'm doing. His life is the utmost priority to me...by God...I know what I'm about...Now get me a first aid kit, and at least put a shirt on!"

The War had officially begun.


	17. Chapter 17 For the End of Men

**Chapter 17: For the End of Men~**

_Mycroft, it's Anderson from the Yard. Sherlock was right! He was-well, of course he was! Sherlock Holmes, I tell you he was right about all of it!_

_Hologram diaries!_

_We found the machines for holograms hidden in the Appledore basements...It did take some forensics...They were disguised as lava lamps, and very many other number of strange artifacts one might find in an eccentric's sitting room. But sure enough they are there, and we found a whole dresser full of what looked like scrapbooks. But when we opened them, ...nothing but scraps and scraps of blank film! A different kind of film than camcorders and cameras take! It was holographic film, Mycroft! The rich bloke had holograms made capturing people in the very moment of their misdeeds, like pillars of lights. It's a scheme too complicated for just over the phone to make, but we only watched one hologram diary of Lady Smallwood! Had set up the machine in her home, had captured all of her dirty little secrets in the moments they were happening. Because holograms can only be seen under the exact frequency of laser they were made in,- the bloke was clever in disguising when the film was rolling too, I tell you, it's MASSIVE, this!- But this means that Sherlock was right about everything! Of course nobody would find the back-up files that Magnusson kept to his mind palace blackmail! Of course not, he had basically written them in "invisible ink", or "invisible light". Had them where he could watch them over and over again right from his sitting room, and so reprogram his mind palace to make the memories ever more vivid incase he SHOULD have to destroy all the back up files! It's...it's just TOO CLEVER!_

The recording ran out of time.

Mycroft stood holding the phone against his head, knees threatening to knock, if the Ice-man could actually be so moved.

Sherlock had indeed been right.

What did this mean for Sherlock?

No sooner did he process Anderson's note, than did Major send his message:

"Have located Pandora, the Woman , Sherlock and John. The fight has taken us to the Empire State Building, some kind of grand finale? Pandora has set up for snipe on 86th floor, the Woman is set up for harlotry on the 90th floor. Sherlock and John are going her way, to confront the man she has most recently seduced. Has something to do with their plan, Sherlock seems to know already, Molls and I can only guess.

We are closing in on Sherlock."

No sooner had the Major's message come ,than did his phone ring.

It was John.

" You've got to send back-up ,Myc. It's..uh...big...It's all going to go down right here. Irene's...err...boyfriend squealed on them all. Mary means to use the Empire State Building as some kind of glorified execution pyre for Sherlock. She's trying to get it on lockdown, where all these people will be trapped inside of it, so she can light it on fire with Sherlock at the top, and kill him ,and every body else in the building , if she can.

Where as Youngblood, or Magnusson, or whatever...he means to get the whole thing on live tv, using his media influence, and apparently that Kitty Reilly that was giving us all such hell back when Moriarty was on trial is in on it all too, like she's Magnusson's girlfriend/muse or something, but,yeah uhh...He's trying to use the tv to show everybody what he can do, he'll let them all see Mary as the terrorist of renown that she is, and then he's going to kill her, and spill all the secrets he's been keeping at once, to set the nations at each others throats, start a World War 3 of sorts...Seems pretty ridiculous, I know, but this is their plan."

Mycroft blinked, processing all the information he had received within the last 5 minutes all at once.

He had only one question that mattered at the moment.

"Is Sherlock with you?"

John sighed, sounding truly stressed."Wouldn't be calling you if he was, Myc. No, it's time...That stuff is starting to work. He's gone off on a King Kong spree ,and bloody well just climbed through the ceiling, foaming at the lips and all that. I remembered what I was told before I set out; I don't want to endanger him when he's like that, so I'm giving him a head start. But I need back up ,see, cuz Mary and a lot of her hires , and possibly Magnusson too, I don't know, are in the building. The guy that Irene was...err..."having tea" with... was part of a Ponzi scheme that was making the whole show possible. Well since the New York City mob is practically all behind bars, little brother to thank for it...uh...there won't be any money coming in now...This is gonna have to wind up sooner than later..."

"I see...Fear not, Doctor Watson, help is on the way. The Major and Molly are coming up to you now, and I am not far behind them."

"There's one more thing, Mycroft. This bloke here says he heard it through the grape-vine that Akhyls reacts faster and better to heat. Something about burning Sherlock will release the chemical inside him into the air, and basically drive the island of Manhattan batty."

Mycroft swallowed.

"Which is why the Empire State Building isn't going to burn. I've already got the police chief on my side...I'll get Lestrade to go after the fire men...

Right now, Sherlock is your mission, Doctor."

"Great! As soon as he stops, I'm going after him. I've got the Woman hostage, what do I do with her?"

"Give her to Major when he gets there. Which is soon."

John's phone was on speaker, Mycroft's voice speaking with a heavy tone into the room.

"Which is now, actually." said Major over-hearing the very last words, as he kicked a part of the wall ,that Sherlock had destroyed by ripping the power cords out, out of his way.

"Ok, I'm hanging up now, Mycroft."

"Best wishes , John. Please do get to Sherlock as soon as possible."

"You can count on it." John gasped, hanging up.

He opened the GPS icon on his phone.

Sherlock's icon had stopped moving.

John breathed a sigh of relief. The spells would be horrible, and supernatural, but they weren't going to last very long.

"She's all yours, sir." John gasped, turning the Woman, and the make-shift medically tended bookkeeper over to the Major.

"John!" Molly called, as he rushed past her.

"Hey, sorry?"

Molly swallowed, chewing at her lip, unsure of how to say this...

"Whatever happens...you did...amazing. If he were in his right mind...he'd be proud."

John smiled.

"Keep them in line, Molly." he gasped, and headed off, hot in pursuit of Sherlock.


	18. Chapter 18 And All The False Gods

** Chapter 18: And All The False Gods~**

The City below him swam as if it were on fire, and it may be a dream, but he couldn't tell the difference.

He was searching, desperately searching for Magnusson, somehow sensing he'd be in the building. Wanting him even more than he did Pandora.

But it was James Moriarty that he found instead, if only in his mind.

"Oh, Sherlock...It's just you and me again...Always you and me...always just trying to get by. I can't say "staying alive"anymore now ,can I?"

"What?" Sherlock turns, and there's Jim, taking him by the wrists.

"Oh, it's you. Come back to critique all my failures ,then?"

"Come to congratulate you..." Jim purred, suddenly slow dancing with Sherlock.

"Really? Why?"

"Because this once, if only just this once, you've proven to be just as clever as I thought you were...I had faith in you, Sherlock..."

"Why are you here? Now, of all times?"

Instead of a dancer's rose, Jim had a stop watch clenched in his teeth. He danced Sherlock to the edge of the higher up observation deck, nearer the top of the Empire State building, and he bowed him over, letting the watch swing hypnotically in between his eyes.

"I'm just waiting...Always waiting...for you to come back to me...We're going to have loads of fun together...Might make Hell a little school to teach the Devil a thing or two, eh? Might get expelled?"

Sherlock stares at the watch. "And why do you think...that I'm going to play such foolish games with you...for all Eternity?"

"Because...you are me. Because you promised me, don't you remember? That hand-shake in Hell? You didn't disappoint me, and you told me if you had to do this forever...you would...I take things literally ,Sherlock..I've been waiting...impatiently...for you. "

"You will be waiting a very long time, I fear." said a Voice behind Jim.

It was the Teacher.

"Yegads! Not YOU!" Jim shouted, tossing Sherlock back on the rooftop.

Sherlock landed on his chin, his stomach swimming like it had eels made of fire in it. So much pain, so much sick. It would hurt too much to throw up, so he didn't.

"Yes, Jim. Yes, Me. You're not the god you thought you were...and this marks the end of your silent Reign From the Ashes too..."

"I won't give up so easy!" Jim wails, throwing a tantrum like a child. "I'm going to have the last laugh, you'll see. I'm the one who gave life to all the spirits Sherlock's got locked away in the Box, you know...I'll have an army at my side when the Akhlys Hour comes..."

"You do. But Sherlock has something you can never counterfeit, try as you may."

"Oh, really? What's that?"

Sherlock got up on his haunches. He heard a voice in the dark...calling his name.

"Light." said the Teacher.

And just then the Teacher and Jim, and all the other spirits disappeared. The stained glass lenses Sherlock was looking at the world through shattered. And there, surrounded in an aura of angelic light, seven times as bright as the sun, he came. Sherlock's healer, his light.

John.

"Woah , now!" he called...and climbed to him, carefully scaling the edge of the smaller deck.

"A little too close to the edge now, mate." he gasped, horrified, at how Sherlock wriggled about snake-like right at the cusp of the rail of this observation deck. Maybe there wasn't a chance that he could have fallen, but Sherlock and tall buildings just don't mix.

"John! You can't be here! HE WAS HERE!"

"Who? It's...it's ok...It's just a bad dream, all of it's just...It's not real. It's ok... I've got you now."

Sherlock leaped to his feet, tearing at his hair.

"No, don't you see! MORIARTY! JIM! HE WAS HERE!" he spun in a circle.

"He had the time...is waiting me out...If I fail...he'll come for me...and I can't let him...you can't be here if he does!..."

John rushed to Sherlock and grabbed him from behind, arms about his waist, as he teetered and nearly fell again.

"John!" Sherlock gasped, in a quiet voice, suddenly lucid again.

John spun him around, took his face in his hands.

"I'm here...it's ok...yeah? I'm here...You're ok..."

"In my head...The uhmm,...the thing...was only in my head..." Sherlock muttered.

"Uhuh, and it's ok, yeah?It's ok...You're safe now. I'm not going to let him come back for you. He's never going to bother you again, you understand?"

Sherlock nodded, eyes somewhat clear again...

"It was all so real..."

"I know..." John swallowed, trying to smile at him.

"Magnusson's in the building. Has to be, has to be close to enact his plan. Somebody so conceited would put himself at the very top. That's why we're here, that's where I was going..."

"Yeah..." John smiled now , in earnest, guiding his eyes to meeting his own.

Sherlock swallowed.

"John?" he breathed...as if trying to call out to the man. Not saying it,but not needing to. Was very lonesome for the man he had died for in this his time of affliction. Never mind that he was here, he still felt distant.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and leaned into his shoulder.

"Shhh..." he whispered, and felt Sherlock's heart tearing at the walls of his chest, like the fingernails of a man buried alive scrape at his dark coffin. Desperate to escape Akhlys. And completely unable to get away...

"I'm going to be here until the last millisecond of Akhlys Hour is up, got it? You're ok. Not gonna let you fall...Not this time. You can't..run off from me again, though, ok? I can't keep up with your speed, this stuff makes you superhuman. We've got to stick together..."

"If I leave you behind...you could be in danger." Sherlock observed, eyes crossing.

John swallowed. Sherlock was always thinking of him first. He had no words for the man at all, and yet he forced himself to speak.

"Well...yeah. I would. And you really would. Please, let me help? You need a doctor...and well...I'm your doctor..."

"Something ...wrong... with me, John?"

"You're sick...You're really, really sick. You need a doctor, and I'm a doctor. You're gonna let me help, right?"

Sherlock looked at John ,shocked. He was the one that was supposed to do all the protecting. Redemption was a foreign concept to him...but to John's utter relief he nodded.

"Ok."

"Good..." John sighed, and held Sherlock close.

"Magnusson..." Sherlock whispered. "He's here...I can...just ...sense it...somehow."

"Shh...we'll worry about Magnusson and all the false gods in a minute. Right now just breathe...Just catch your breath...It really is ok...I promise."

Sherlock closed his eyes against the horror of it all. John had promised to be here till the end of his precarious salvation, and Sherlock believed him whole-heartedly. It was just...they were close to the edge, and a long way from the ground...and Sherlock had fallen before.

The stakes were as high as the Empire State building. This was NOT a game that he had wanted to play...


	19. Chapter 19 And of Wizards

**Chapter 19: And of Wizards and Their Tricks~**

John held Sherlock like that for a long time, listening to his rampant pulse, praying that God would let him live, make him able to help. He didn't really know how he could help, but he knew that he would have to try. John was lost in thought, and had practically melted into his brother's feverish warmth, when his phone began to ring.

Sherlock flinched, and drew back like he'd been snakebit, super sensitive to sound and light now, John's phone making a "doodaalee" sounding sort of chime, and lighting up a neon blue. John reached out a hand and placed it on Sherlock's chest, over his heart, "Shh...It's ok...it's all fine, it's just my phone..." he whispered, and pulled it out, answering it. It was on speaker, so Sherlock could hear what was being said too:

" Yeah?"

"John, it's Sally. Sherlock's with you ,right?"

John smiled, because Sally was FINALLY calling Sherlock by his actual name.

"Yeah. And he's pretty lucid right now. My phone's on speaker, so he can hear what you're saying."

"OK, Sherlock, Anderson found the files you were talking about in Appledore. You were right, about everything. They were hidden in these hologram machines, which everybody knows that since holograms can only play under the right lazer frequency, it guaranteed that only he could watch them, only he would know they existed; the government could never bust him just for having a few scrapbooks full of undeveloped film, right?

But...Sherlock...I've been paying really close attention to everything...I mean that's what you do always ,right? And something...something is off about this, you know? I mean, first, before you passed out back in the lab, Molly was telling us about how she called hospital security on Big Scary What's His Name. When I asked her who the security guards were that she called on Mary, she said yes when I asked if their names were Clearfield and Smith? Clearfield and Smith,...were off-duty that day, and then later they went in because Anderson asked them to, and got abducted and locked up in the old Penworth place in Brixton. Who abducted them, and why exactly? I mean it didn't seem so important before, but now it kind of does...because who else is playing this game, to have abducted those guys? And if Anderson's got Clearfield and Smith with him, then who were those guards that took Mary out of the hospital?...And I guess what I really mean to say is..are they going to be coming back for more, now that we've reached a finale or something?"

Sherlock's eyes grew wide, and John could see that he had already solved it.

"Child's play, really, Sally. But...children are worse than thieves when it comes to playing fair. It's an inside job. Has to be. Anderson was abducted by Clearfield and Smith, and they made it look like they had themselves been abducted. If Molly knew the names of the guards, but she didn't know them personally enough to call them by name when she first mentioned them, that would mean she most likely identified them by their name badges. No one else was missing from the force last night ,did you say? And you yourself were able to single out Clearfield and Smith as being the only guards from the Yard that guard Bart's at night; the hospital would have its own security staff during the day. So it's simple, really. Clearfield and Smith went in to help Anderson, because it was part of the plan for his staged abduction. They supplied Magnusson's people with their own uniforms, to disguise the mock hospital guards as actual police officers. Who slipped out unobserved with Mary in tow, and before she could kill them and make a run for it, they revealed themselves as part of Magnusson's network, and took her to him, where she negotiated her bargaining chip with him, (the plan to spring the poison on me, that I was "ready" for it). For the king of blackmail didn't just come by all his resources by osmosis ,did he? Of course not; NO ONE is that clever. He obviously had help. I don't know if Mycroft has told any of you yet about the Operation of his I broke up in Cancun, but Magnusson did break into Area 51 within the last year or so, which is where he got all the toxins( these combined with the know-how ) that encouraged Pandora to hire him for her plot against me. But he didn't just sneak into the most notoriously secure and secretive American base by himself, now, did he? Magnusson's a fat spider in the center of an old cob web, he's not cut out for mission's of stealth. He was escorted onto Area 51 premises by members of the Mexican cartel, who ,as master criminals, knew very well how to sneak across American borders, and fly under U.S. federal radar. He had them escort him in, show him the "product" themselves. As a fee, he allowed them to keep some of the spoils, to sell for their own gain, but he took what ingredients he would need for his exploits that I sabotaged. Had enough left over for Mary's proposal.

I had sabotaged his work by tricks , and he meant to kill me for it, the night that Mary came and offered a better bargain, concluding a business that they had begun long before I entered the scene...

_ "Sherlock...you've not played fairly...Clever boy...but a very ,very bad boy..." Magnusson said...filling a syringe full of something._

_Sherlock was too tired, and his skin burned too badly from having been reversed back into flesh after having been chemically altered into a living porcelain doll. His flesh was broken open by the crowbar Magnusson had beat him with when he was still under the influence of the Porcelain Serum_,_and so he looked like the belly of a lake dried up in the desert wind, all parched cracked places, seeming to have no blood left in him._

_He was thirsty, oh God, he was so thirsty! His tongue had swollen up and he could barely move it to talk now ,which is why he said nothing in protest to Magnusson, who he had indeed tricked, and also made deals with (Mycroft's deductions so far in our narrative being very slightly off)._

_"You won't keep any of the promises you just made, will you, Sherlock? Of course not... you? Sell state secrets to me?! I would be a fool not to know that your brother's personal computer files would have GPS locator on them. You have taken me for a fool, if only because you have tricked me this evening...Into revealing my plan to you. Your brother would be so proud of you...of how clever you are...In coming up with such a algebraically calculated plan to take me in...But it all fell through, didn't it?..._

_Oh, Sherlock...tsk tsk tsk...England's ADORABLE little bloodhound...You had a dog once too ,didn't you? One you adored?...Oh come, Moriarty's not the only one your life story has been sold too...I bought it from him for a price..." Magnusson smiled wickedly through his teeth, and Sherlock sighed, wishing he'd just have it over with already. Was ready to be done now..._

_"Well...that beloved dog of yours...Redbeard, was it?..Mmm...if I remember your Mum and Dad had him put down too...got too sick to keep anymore...did he? Well...seems you're too sick now...for your big brother to want to keep, after all the things I've done to you...after how your plans have failed. So...I'm going to put you down now too...It's no fun, is it?"_

_Sherlock bowed his head. He wasn't afraid to die, had already once , if you remember..._

_His last thoughts were apologies to everyone. Mycroft. His mum and dad. Molly...Mrs. Hudson. John. Especially John...He didn't suppose he would ever see him again, if he wouldn't be going to any Paradise._

_Now that he was going to die, now that he was being murdered, one last thought came to him. He smiled, and silent tears formed, but never fell...because he realized this is what people do, what John would do in the end. They pray..._

_"Please...God? Yes...You,...uhmm...God..? Please...Please...err...God. Please...let him live...You know who..."_

_He was afraid now to even think his name, lest he put him in danger._

_"I failed...I'm sorry...But...Let him live...One more miracle...just for him, would You? Please..._

_He just...he can't die. Just stop this...Let all of this come to an end...if only just for him..._

_Please..."_

_A gun could be heard chambering in the ugly run down shack somewhere in the slummier parts of Cancun. Sherlock's chains rattled as he looked up. Magnusson was about to use some kind of fruity poison ,so even an idiot would know that he wasn't the one chambering the gun. Someone else was here._

_His heart froze when he saw who. He had wiped her from his mind, but when she came slinking into the room like a witch's black cat, he knew her._

_Mary._

_"Can't let you do that, Charles."_

_"I've already told you...I will reconsider your offers at a more opportune time..."_

_"Really, Charles? THIS is the most opportune time. He's busted you...it's over. That and I could kill you right now...and your plans are STILL foiled, huh?...But...if we keep him alive..."_

_She held up a vial, "This is Akhlys 2. The subject it worked on? It made them insanely mad with hallucinations, and they confessed to everything they ever did. Moriarty witnessed the test, before he offed hisself. Said it was too savage, he preferred to keep the meat intact when he killed his prey. But...what we want from our little fruit here is his juice...right? His protocol...his status as the World's Only Consulting Detective? You could perfect my poison to be able to work on his mind...We could reap all of his secrets,...watch it destroy him. Either it will kill him...or we will kill him. After we've left him alive long enough to see us destroy everything he worked for..."_

_Magnusson smiled, "Hmm...My vaults...are shockingly empty as of now...Yes, I could benefit from this...And you...I suppose this bargain is a means of buying me out...so I won't sell your secrets...naughty girl."_

_"Me and my Misses...the notorious Woman."_

_"I will include any one you ask for...so long as you can guarantee that it will work."_

_"You're the toxin master, not me...But I promise you...the other test was successful."_

_"He won't give in so easily to us. You oughta know by now that he can't be made to do anything...And we can't trick him...either..."_

_Mary smiled, "No, of course not...we simply buy him out. He's as loyal as an old dog ,for sure, to certain people. Ok, Sherlock...name your price?"_

_Sherlock drew up, hopefully, knowing what he had to do._

_"No, I won't be bought. I can win my freedom, and the lives under my protection, fairly."_

_"Can you?" Mary chuckled._

_"Yes...I'm sure the both of you would prefer a Game...a contest...a battle of wits, or whatever you want to call it, to a cheaply bought off murder, no? If you lose, your criminal careers are done for...but if I lose..."_

_Magnusson purred with delight.."Sounds..engaging..."_

_"Name your price? What will you put down on the table if you lose the game?" Mary growled._

_"If I lose to your game...if I can't resist whatever poison you concot...you get my secrets...The lives of my innocents are forfeit."_

_Mary chuckled, "Even John?"_

_Sherlock moaned inwardly at the use of this name. _

_"Yes..." he whispered...but it was ok. He knew he could win, because there were no secrets left in his death-wiped memory vaults...He had already won the Game._

Sally and John were stunned by Sherlock's brief recount of the above story. John's stomach burned...knowing Sherlock had made the bargain for him...even if he didn't expressly say so.

"I have reason to believe that Kitty Reilly ,the investigative reporter that is partially responsible for my former death, has joined Magnusson's network, now that her own boss is dead...She might be the one behind this, having given Clearfield and Smith access to, and preconceived knowledge of the Vaults?"

"You mean...they found them so easy because one of Magnusson's people squealed on them ?" Sally asked, confused.

"No, they found them so easy because Magnusson WANTED them found. You have to fill Mycroft in on the entire story of Cancun, make sure he has all the details sorted. Have to explain to him the Network situation, and then tell him that I said you should probably be sent back to England, in the company of some of his people who are good for SWAT missions, and bail Anderson out. He's unfortunately ,once again, become just another piece in their games..."

Sally swallowed..."Why me? Why not Greg?"

"I need him here...You said you wanted to help me ,right?"

Sally swallowed. She did. She truly did. This time.

"Yeah, of course!"

"Good, then...give Mycroft my message..."

"Good luck, Sally." John gasped, and they hung up.

John stared at Sherlock.

"All of that...to save me...Save all of us...

"Yeah..."

John smiled, and nodded, trying to process that.

"So...now what do we do?"

Sherlock looked at the roof.

"The spike...where my ...execution is going to be...Magnusson will be there...Has some last well wishes for me...I believe."

John nodded, willing to follow him anywhere. Even up.


	20. Chapter 20 The Heavens Declare

**Chapter 20: The Heavens Declare~**

John held his breath. They stood higher than eagle's care to fly, in anticipation of the Akhlys Hour, and in anticipation of the Akhlys author, who was the only one who could truly call the cease-fire on this ridiculous scheme of Pandora's. He was the Exterminator, death and life was in the power of his tongue.

"Do you always meet your opponent's on rooftops, Mr. Holmes?" said Magnusson's voice from somewhere on the pinnacle.

"No, but when I do, I out do myself." Sherlock answered, climbing up, feeling John's steadying hands behind him, hearing the young doctor let out a shuddering breath.

"You might could have picked a roof with a little bit more leg room?" he sighed, ready for this to be over.

"Yes, you have done very well. I must say ,Sherlock, I am extremely impressed. Your observational skills...your science of deduction, cut through one of the most elaborate of my schemes to ever actually leave the drawing board, like a dagger through thin sliced cheese. In fact, I am somewhat disappointed how well you can see right through me...It will make negotiations...obsolete."

Sherlock nodded, "So, let me see if I have gotten any of it wrong ,then. The last , somewhat "insignificant" detail...is usually the most important to have correct. You have met me here on the pinnacle, before the Akhlys Hour...to discuss an alternative to the agreement you made with Pandora, because you know that I have beaten you..."

Magnusson smiled, and gave a little nod. John felt his fist curling. Before negotiations were over, he was most definitely going to come to blows with the Prince of Blackmail.

"A foolish man can never admit defeat. A wise man will know when he is beaten...And a clever man...will find a way to have it where he's holding all the cards , no matter what the outcome of the game..."

"Oh, I see. You're supposedly holding all the cards."

"You've beaten me, Sherlock...And saved the lives of your precious little doctor, and all your other comical little friends. You won the Game fairly enough, so far...But so far you've only played with Pandora and her Woman...I'm here to propose one last match of chess with me..."

"A bonus round?"

"Why spend your last sweet hours trying to sabotage Pandora's plot for this building when I can call off all the dogs right now? I can give the order, have them turn on her, and eliminate her for you..."

"Pshh, I don't want her eliminated, I want her turned over to the proper authorities, and her lover as well.. Justice to prevail..."

"And it will, Mr. Holmes...Hear me out..."

"No! You aren't making anymore deals!"John hissed, and sprung forward, Sherlock catching him beneath his arms, lest he fall.

"Sherlock has basically won this game, and can fight off the poison no problems! Fair and square, and you go to prison just like your agreement..."

"Or...I could offer him a position that will save you...That's what he really wants ,isn't it? To save _you..."_

Sherlock's, to John's sinking heart, full attention turned on Magnusson.

"I'm listening..."

Magnusson pulls out a syringe. " I have perfected an antidote serum for your poison. Now, how it will cure you is by accelerating your poison's reaction rate. The Akhlys Hour could happen...as soon as I inject the serum into your bloodstream. At which point, the contest will be between the two of us only, before Pandora can intervene in anyway. In a duel of wits, you will solve for all the blackmail I have stored in my mind palace, and if I win...I walk away from this ...and you..."

Sherlock guessed the last bit even before John did.

"And I fall to my death a second time. Die in disgrace..."

"Wonderfully clever you are! But there's one more thing..." Magnusson held up a final syringe.

"I have concocted a serum too wonderful to tell you what it even does for our dear Doctor Watson if you don't agree to my terms..."

Sherlock looked at John, and before John could even breathe a protest, Sherlock looked back at Magnusson, with a devilish grin.

"It seems the Game is afoot. And the heavens declare the winner."

"They do indeed, Mr. Holmes..."

Sherlock took two steps forward.

John gasped, and swung at mid-air trying to pull him back from this...unable to bear the concept of a potential second fall. Of losing him ...again. Of his dying to save him...again.

But it was too late.

Magnusson was already injecting the Akhlys Accelerator into Sherlock's heart.

A desperate, dying rage awoke in John's heart and mind, and with a blood- curdling scream, he leaped at Magnusson, and reached up and caught the building's pinnacle with one stray hand, using it like the pole in the center of a carousel to spin himself in a 360, and thrust his knee in Magnusson's face, breaking his jaw.

Sherlock sank to a sitting position there on the rooftop, whites of his eyes turning neon pink.

Suddenly his voice could be heard shrieking in pent-up rage and terror all the way from the street.

The Akhlys Hour had begun.


	21. Chapter 21 The Hour of Judgement

**Chapter 21: The Hour of Judgement~**

Molly never saw it coming.

She was standing with her back to the door, where the Major sat in the floor beside Irene, who was periodically checking the vitals of her lover ,that Sherlock had electrocuted, and he had his gun in his hands, facing the door that they had come through so that if any one of the combatants tried to enter the room, he would have them at gun point. Molly's job was to survey the street from the window, and see if help was on the way.

A voice over an intercom ,calmly started directing people to evacuate the building.

"Attention Ladies and Gentlemen. We don't wish to alarm you, but we have been alerted that there is a potential fire in the building. Please head to the nearest exits, and wait for officials to assist you..."

"Sounds like Myc has gotten the building evacuated." Major said.

Molly kept scanning the street.

"There's something going on down there! Fire fighters are all in their positions, but the police are caught up...doing something. I see Anderson! And a red-headed woman has him and Sally too...at gun point!

Mycroft is trying to direct the situation back in his control...and the police officers...are taking positions behind cars...for...what looks to be...oh! it's a ...shootout?!"

Major swallowed. This had turned into all-out guerilla war alright. The papers would spark a fire bigger than the execution pyre Morstan had initially intended the Empire State building to be from all of this...

Speaking of Morstan...

Of course! Stupid! They should have expected a master assassin wouldn't use the regular entrances. Before Molly really even finished her observation about the street rabble, Mary swooped out of the sky, leaping from the hole in the roof Sherlock's earlier antics had torn , and landed on top of Molly, yanking her by her hair to rolling over on to her back.

She held her gun in a shaking hand, pointed directly at Molly's gasping mouth.

Major stood up, and put Mary at gun-point.

"Hold your fire! Or I'll shoot you!"

"I'm as good as dead, anyway...Looks as though your little bloodhound...was better than I thought. Bloody game!...But like I said, I don't have to play fair!"

She shot the floor close to Molly's head, tearing off some of her hair. Molly held her breath,not making a sound. Counted the racing beats of her heart.

"I may have lost, but I can still make you lot suffer...Leave scars on Sherlock that will make him wish he were dead..."

"We lost, Mary. We knew we were going to lose. Ever since he's come back to London, he's gathered a record that is phenomenal ,even for him...This Game was suicide anyway...we just wanted to leave a nice note for the world to remember us by..." Irene gasped.

"Oh, we did, didn't we? And we will...Sherlock will...remember quite well...the woman who killed his childhood playmate..."

"I'm not about to stand aside and suffer collateral damage a second time...And you...you seem to be somewhat inexperienced in that realm...Always dealing out punishments,and never receiving one for yourself...eh?

If you hurt Molly...I will kill Irene. A life for a life..." The Major barked, voice full of command.

"Irene is only my whore...And I won't be needing her when I'm dead...Go ahead...shoot her...I don't care."

Irene burst into sudden tears, having had enough.

Mary grit her teeth at Molly, "Why...I expected you'd be sniveling and crying by now...You won't even scream?..."

"Well...I might have...screamed or cried or whatever...Except...you've already lost...so it doesn't really matter whatever you try and do now."

Mary was taken aback. She froze, not having expected such a response from Molly Hooper.

And that would be the very last thing she remembered anyway.

Irene spun around, knocking the Major's gun out of his hand.

"Sorry...Admiral, it's nothing personal...I've just had a rather personal score to settle with Pandora for a long time!" she cried, and caught the gun mid-air. Pressing it into the back of Mary's head.

"This is for spoiling me...Naughty girl..." she gasped, and pulled the trigger.

Molly did scream then,as Mary Morstan slid limp and dead to the floor, laying like a rag doll on top of her.

Irene rolled Mary's corpse over, shot the glass out of the window, and kicked her out of it. Her body sailed through the air, landing right in the middle of the rabble on the street.

The Woman held the smoking gun in her hands. Her eyes met Molly's ,and the look on her face told the girl that the Woman had absolutely no remorse for any of her sins...except for one.

Irene turned to the Major, and tossed his gun to him. He caught it, and put it on safety, his mouth forming a grim line.

"I suppose that's it then. All those clients...all my years of treachery and con-art and whoredom...and just generally being a very naughty girl...The thing I'll be arrested for in the end will be murder..." she smiled, and looked out the window, at where she had cast Mary's body. "Murder of the woman ...who in so many ways destroyed me. It's alright. I wanted to be destroyed...I enjoyed every minute of my time as "The Woman". But...Sherlock Holmes..."now she gets choked up, "Is an angel, despite what he says...a snow-white virgin, as wise as a serpent and as harmless as a dove. He doesn't deserve to suffer for all of this...and his innocent friends...the lambs he shed his blood for..._really _ don't. I suppose in the end, he HAS saved me, just as he always meant to. I won't run. You don't even have to guard me anymore. Go down with me to the floor. I want to be the one to hand my own self over to them. And in that way...repent. I was really good at being naughty...I wonder...what I would have been like...if I had tried to be good? "

Molly sat up, blinking...unsure how to take all that just happened.

"I think...well...that you would have been very good...if that had been the case...Mycroft certainly would have been glad for your help ..." she gasped, a hand going to her throat, trying to get her breath back.

"And do you think...I can be forgiven?" asked Irene, curling a brow.

Major stood up, and hauled the electrocuted bookkeeper over his shoulder.

Molly held her breath, trying to muster the strength to say what she was thinking.

"I think,...just maybe..you can...God willing...But...only,only if you...if you really...want to...Do you..._want _ to be ...forgiven?...Are...are you sorry, at all?"

Irene looked up at the hole Sherlock had torn in the ceiling. Thought about all the pain she had caused that one man she respected and admired above all else.

"For the sake of Sherlock Holmes...Yes."

"Then...you will..."

"Then let's have it over with ." the Major sighed, truly tired of all the wars in the world.

"Lead the way." Irene said, tilting her chin defiantly.


	22. Chapter 22 The Hour of Penance

**Chapter 22: The Hour of Penance~**

Sally Donovan never made it as far as the airport.

Of course! She cursed at herself. Of course Sherlock was right. Magnusson wanted the physical hard drive found. Was probably meaning to use it as some sort of bargaining chip.

A sort of trade of equal interests. SIS secrets, and reasonable toxin specialist services, in exchange for his miserable life should his plans fall through.

There were two sides to this story though. Sally was kicking herself for not being more clever. Of course they should have alerted the other agents of Clearfield and Smith's betrayal.

Because the other agents had automatically acted as they felt their boss would warrant, and had made videos,and taken photographs for evidence of the confidential information they had physically found in Magnusson's house. And then they had taken it into his backyard, and in a miniature controlled explosion they had destroyed it.

As far as the games go,this had been a suicide move. Magnusson's current P.A. and hired sneak, the investigative reporter Kitty Reilly, had swarmed in with select few members of Magnusson's network, to round up Anderson and these agents for immediate disposal. Clearfield and Smith had allowed this sabotage of the information to happen, because they had been working for Magnusson long enough to know he was a maniac, and they thought that this could actually stop him. So they had betrayed Anderson and been willfully trying to help him in his mission, all at once.

Anderson had been on Cloud 9 when they had found the hologram diaries. Had felt like one of the knights of the Round Table when he helped Mycroft's men to destroy them.

It was the pinnacle of his career. He could not wait to brag to Sherlock! Could actually not wait to be collaborating with Sherlock in the future, thinking maybe now that he was forgiven that they could actually become friends...Maybe...They had both changed, and for the better, and so just maybe he ,and Sally, and Greg, and Sherlock..could all be a team now. He rather liked the idea. And John would be there too, he realized. He rather liked that too...

Things weren't looking so bright now. Clearfield and Smith had been immediately terminated at Appledore, when Kitty got there with the hired guns. He had watched them die. They had been his friends, and he knew that they had tricked him. Now...he understood what it must have been like for Sherlock when he had been on St. Bart's rooftop. He (and he could tell by the look on Sally's face as he saw her stop dead in her tracks, on the sidewalk , that she also) was truly sorry.

The black Lotus came shrieking to a stop right in the middle of Fifth Avenue. The police had closed off this section of the street, and the whole of New York City, and soon the World, witnessed the firefighters rushing to prepare for the worst, as well as see the shootout the police were engaged in with Magnusson's men that had closed in.

Chief Honors and Greg were fighting back to back, leaning over the side of his patrol car. They had handcuffed Meredith ,and were making her sit in the back seat, and she was shrieking protests at all the bullets flying around her.

"Now you know what it feels like, being almost shot!" Greg shouted, hitting the window, and then ignoring her, as he had more important stuff to worry about right now.

Mycroft himself had joined the fight, being given a silver Springfield by one of his people, and positioning himself in a place closest to the outside of the fire. Not because he was a coward, but because he needed to be in a place where he could pause, and shout threats and terms of surrender over a police megaphone at the enemy, explaining who he was, and how he had the ultimate authority in their situation.

He was interrupted by the shrieking of the wheels of the black Lotus, and by the voice of Kitty Reilly, as she stepped out of the passenger's seat, opening a door for Anderson,and leading him out of the car at gunpoint. Some of her other people, in similar rides, lead Sally and the team of Secret Service agents Mycroft hand-picked to take her back to England, into the circle, also at gunpoint.

"So...this will make a really GOOD story...eh? You dredged that piece of inhuman rot you call a brother up from his grave...And now you've got him busting up the entire American gang? Too many spoons in too many pots, wouldn't you say, Mycroft ,dear? Your whole family...what is it Sherlock would say?..._repels _me."

"Oh, Reilly. Go back to hell. And get a number and a place in the line at my desk if you want to quiz me; I have more important matters of Universal security to deal with at the moment!" Mycroft cried, rolling his eyes, turning back to the fight, shooting the tires out of a motorcycle that was getting too close to the outer ring of the fight.

"Mmmm...Mr. Holmes. You never have given me the credit where credit is due, have you?Allow me to introduce myself as the personal assistant of Charles Magnusson. I was formerly the personal informant of James Moriarty,and I am by rights the grand architect in those series of events that lead to Sherlock's Fall."

"Yes, I know who you are. And you will pay for what you have done...But right now, whatever you have come to negotiate has moved out of your hands. Your master has gone to new heights which you cannot follow."

Mycroft pointed up. The cameras hadn't diverted their attention that way yet, and it was probably just as well. Sherlock stood, in position to fall again, fighting his final battle with Akhlys. Whilst John and Magnusson spun rings around the rosey in the air, wrestling like Titans against Kronos, and it was pretty clear that one of them was going to lose the fight,resulting in a tremendous fall.

Reilly had looked up at just the right moment . John, trying to escape Magnusson, did a horrifically painful hand stand , that pierced into his palm, making it slick with blood, in an acrobatic move on the very peak of the pinnacle of the Empire State building. By doing so, he evaded Magnusson, who had made one last desperate grab at him, meaning to use his weight against him, to cast him off the roof, even if that meant they both went down. But seeing as he grabbed at nothing but empty air, he reeled , he teetered, and he fell. The screaming could be heard all the way on the ground. John did a cart-wheel, and for a moment, he gave a sharp yell,as it seemed he would come crashing down from the heights too.

But ,as if by Divine Providence, he was positioned directly above where Sherlock, who was superhuman strengthened by the poison he was strung out on, stood. When he fell, he was unexpectedly caught from under the arms, by Sherlock's out-stretched hands .

Kitty shouted, knowing that no matter what she had come to carry out or to threaten it didn't matter now. Their plan had failed so utterly it was comical.

While she was distracted, Sally and Anderson exchanged a look. They knew what they had to do. For Sherlock, as a sort of penance...

Anderson swung around with his elbow, and it was just enough to smash Kitty's sun-glasses on her face, where she had to close her eyes for all the broken plastic and blood. Which was just enough time for Sally to pounce on her back, and slip handcuffs on her wrists. She hung on for the ride as Kitty thrashed about, trying to buck her off. Sally grabbed her red pig tails like one would a horse's mane and reigned her in.

"You are under arrest for the murder of Sherlock Holmes!" she shouted, and her voice quivered with victory in the smoking air.

Mycroft turned around and smiled, a truly pleased smile.

"This is shaping up to be a very good day after all. Now perhaps Anthea will save a raspberry tart for me when I make preparations for going home. That would be truly splendid."

No sooner did he say that, than did the Major and Molly lead the bookkeeper and Irene straight up to him.

The Game was over now.


	23. Chapter 23 The Akhlys Hour

** Chapter 23: The Akhyls Hour~**

In that moment, Sherlock is painfully, utterly oblivious to everything and everyone around him.

He's still awake and still breathing, but his vision is as dark as comatose, for a fraction of a second after the accelerator drug has entered his bloodstream.

And then, rising up, from an imaginary river in his head, is the face, greenish white, covered in stringy ,sticky black hair, dribbling vomit and snot, and weeping blood, of the mythical creature Akhlys.

She screams as if greeting him, and he feels his whole body contort in sudden fear, as if he is a wraith, rendered the puppet of the sudden pangs of anxiety.

And then, as if his lungs are filling up with liquid lead, he is sinking in this imaginary river. His heart is beating so fast it is making his chest rise and fall in one spot like an extra breath.

He feels sick, but he holds it in, throat closing because of the visions that suddenly consume his mind.

He sees it... a dark field in his head, covered in bodies. His head hurts, his throat twists ,as if somebody has wrapped an elastic around it, and wound it up tight. The bodies,...have all been brutally tortured. Some of them are made of porcelain , and are crushed like eggs trampled over by legions of centurions. Some them are cut open ,and their internal organs are pulled out of their bodies, and wrapped in plastic, and put in chemicals, and hooked to portable machines, so that they can be transported, waking or comatose, surgically topsy-turvy. Some of them are cocooned in razor wire that is chemically laced, and there is a white caustic smoke rising from them. Still some of them are too horribly mutilated to make mention of here.

Their faces. Sherlock's stomach quivers and burns like he's being stung by a hornet.

They are all multiples of his own face. Here in this moment he feels every torment that a member of Moriaty's Network used on him ,all at once. These bodies lying here?He is sickened to realize that all of these things were actually done to him...and somehow he lived to tell the tale.

He is twisting turning, rendered a wraith by Akhyls, all of it happening too quickly, all of it too much for its own self. He feels like he is a candle flame, burning, twisting in the wind that is going to snuff him out, folding in on himself, shuttering, trying to make sense of it all.

He closes all those he ever knew and loved out of his mind. Won't let them into his private hell. He sees great mountains made of bone dust crushed together, rising up out of the river of Akhyls.

He sees himself, wrapped in all of the inventions of torture created just for him, like myriad of mummys in Pharaoh's afterlife, go to the edge of those mountains, spread forth their arms and leap.

One after the other. Hundreds of thousands. Millions of billions. Billions of trillions of times. Over and over and over again. Each hitting the ground with a dull "Thud'. Each of them sinking into the river to be slowly gnawed to string by Akhlys' teeth.

He gets to the place where he just can't watch it anymore. Wonders why even it all happened? When...out of the sky, like a blazing meteor, a man comes crashing into Akhlys' hell.

In that moment, with the appearance of that Light, the Akhlys Hour ends.

* * *

><p>John is losing his breath.<p>

If it wasn't for this precarious balance on the roof, and Magnusson's animal desperation now that he knows he's lost, John would have already beaten him now.

Somebody is going to fall.

John's head turned towards Sherlock.

He's trying to close his eyes against it all.

John isn't aware of this, because it seems like it's all happening so fast, but its been around 55 minutes since Magnusson injected him with the Accelerator Drug.

He needs only hold on for 5 more minutes and all of this will finally be over.

Maybe he and Sherlock can go home and do nothing but eat Chinese take out, and watch crap telly for days on end.

He's actually begging heaven that's all they have to do, when Magnusson makes his last move.

John does something he would not have done, even if he had gone completely insane. He only reacts to Magnusson's move, and suddenly he is looking down at New York City, pain shooting through his palm, from a needle point of the pinnacle of one of the world's tallest buildings. His legs are all bunched up in the air. His breath has caught. He feels his blood dripping from his hand, and his pulse is beating in his ears. There's a War going on down there. He doesn't care about that right now. Right now he is going to die, fittingly trying to protect Sherlock,and dying in the same way as he did for him, and that is all he can process. He won't be able to hold his balance for very long at all. He can already hear Magnusson screaming as he makes his way to the ground.

John holds his breath as his legs tumble over him in a cart-wheel sort of move he didn't even attempt. And then his breath comes out in a soft, "Ah ughh oh!" sort of sound.

So this is falling...

He's only aware of it for one sickeningly long second,when his armpits begin to sting with a very sharp blunt pain.

He opens his eyes, feeling like he's smothering ,unable to breathe.

Sherlock has caught him mid-air. Superhuman strong at the climax of his poisoning. He lifts John up, to look at him, to study his face.

For just a fraction of a second John is afraid that they will both fall. But he doesn't believe not even for a fraction of a fraction of a minute that Sherlock would drop him, purposefully or accidentally. As he told Mycroft, he would never hurt him.

"H-hey!" John gasps out of blue lips, as Sherlock blinks at him, having been staring at him in stupor, like a nocturnal animal does the sun...

"Light...I see...the Light..." he whispered.

"Yeahhhh...Can you put me down? Please?"

Sherlock takes a very ginger step back, to where there is enough room for both of them, and slides to sitting on the roof.

John lays there for a moment, panting, coughing, trying to catch his breath, as his heart beats go from violent, orange in the juice press squeezing, to an average rate.

Sherlock gasps...

"It's...over! Akhyls...I don't...it's...uhm...gone."

"Oh ,good. GOOD!" John howled, clutching Sherlock's hands in his own, shaking ones.

"You...you...you caught me...Sherlock. You caught me..." John gasped, moved to tears with gratefulness.

"I did...didn't I?" Sherlock laughed, remembering now.

"Seems we have saved each other once again, John..." he sighed, now that he had come off the drugs, utterly exhausted.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson! Please return to ground level, at once!" Mycroft shouted over the megaphone.

"Can't he...just let us...catch our breath...FOR ONE BLOODY MINUTE!" John whined.

"No, he can't. He hates field work, rarely ever has to do it, and wants to go back to sitting in a plushy desk chair, and inhaling pastry. Such a boring life..."

John chuckled nervously, as he and Sherlock got up on hands and knees.

"Oh my God...what happened to your hand?" Sherlock gasped, tearing a strip from the bottom of his shirt, and winding it tightly around the wound.

"I I I...handstand...off the...oh God..." John wailed, pressing his face into Sherlock's chest, and letting out a long howl.

Sherlock knelt there, with shaking hands entangled in the golden blonde hair, waiting for him to finish being so upset, so they could try and climb back into the building. It would be difficult since their legs had turned to jelly.

But they could do it, of course. Together they were unbeatable...


	24. Chapter The Last

** Chapter The Last~**

When they finally picked a path back to the street, John kissed the ground that Sherlock was very gingerly limping on.

He stood ,staggering, looking at the scene.

Just at that moment, Irene looked up. She was being lead hand-cuffed into a helicopter, that would first go to Seville, where she would direct them to Pandora headquarters so that they could shut them down, and then was heading back to England, where she would be expressly terminated by firing squad.

It was strange ,...the smile on her face. Almost happy. Happy to see the man who had convicted her ..

"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." she texted his phone, her personal tone making its vulgar sound that always made everyone who heard it cringe a bit. Sherlock read the message ,and looked up, to see her waving goodbye.

He reached up a hand, and waved goodbye in turn. Here at the end,he was totally at peace with it all. She would be brought to justice, like she ought to be. But they had parted on almost friendly terms.

John sat up on his knees, praising the Lord that he was on land, when he saw it. Just for a second, before they whisked it up on a gurney, and zipped it into a body bag. Mary's body.

He froze, remembering the beautiful young nurse from Afghanistan. The woman of his dreams. And then suddenly, slowly, sadly...he smiled. Deciding to leave her there, in his dreams. As if Mary Morstan was a figment of his imagination ,and nothing more. The body that they were taking away belonged to Pandora. Forgiving Mary, and letting Pandora die, it was the only way that he could live with this. He slowly got to his feet, and Sherlock laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, having seen her too.

The exchanged glances,and a smile. It was done. All of the betrayals, the domestic wars, the poisonous deals and dramas. Now it was finally done. There were no more bridges left to burn. Their lives would always be littered with problems, bad cases and people making threats...That was just their life, and it was good ,despite everything. But their days in hell were done. They had survived. Resurfaced better men. As brothers, closer than they would have been ,had fire not touched them. Even though it had been a bitter time, it had been a good time. They nodded with a mutual understanding, and turned to see them cleaning Magnusson off the pavement, putting him in a body bag as well.

"What...exactly...did you do to your hand?" Sherlock asked, having put it all together now.

"I did a handstand off the top of the Empire State building's spike. It poked into my hand hard enough to leave a hole. But I slipped right through _his _ fingers..."

"Guess somebody had to fall...And this time ...it wasn't me..." Sherlock suddenly got hoarse, and shook his head, trying not to think about it.

Mycroft sauntered over to them from out of the middle of the chaos, hair standing up like a cow had licked it, face dirty from gunpowder and smoke.

"Well, the fire Morstan had begun to build was very successfully put out. And because of the fire and the shoot-out ,it looks like you evaded the papers this time. Keep out of the news,Sherlock. You're supposed to be dead."

Sherlock sighed, and his knees started knocking, "I feel...oddly faint?" he said, and teetered.

"I'll get a wheel chair from one of the paramedics, brother mine. When I said you are supposed to be dead, I meant it only in theory. Please don't get any ideas, I've had enough scares from you the last few months ,to last an entire lifetime..Oi!..." Mycroft began to turn to do as he had said, when the Major tugged ,in a kiddy way, at his sleeve.

"Oh? Hello, Major, what is it?"

" About dinner, sir. We should probably take advantage of the American cuisine while we still have a chance, sir...Hamburgers and corn on the cob for the lot of us...I have money to contribute, if we could convert it to American bills?"

Mycroft smiled..." I'll supply dinner tonight, Major. For your trouble."

And with a flourish Mycroft walked off.

Meredith was whining, still locked in the cop car. Chief Honors was chatting with Sally and Anderson, and they were all gafawing about how they had taken down Kitty Reilly,and locked her up in the back of Honor's car with Greg's treacherous wife.

Greg slipped up next to Molly, who stood placidly silent now, staring at the scene, trying to process all the madness since...well since Baskerville Island. Wondering when she got a chance to go back to her normal ,boring life for a little while. Or at least, a chance for less life-threatening adventures. Greg suddenly, awkwardly, cleared his throat.

"Getting straight to the point...I've always thought you were rather cute." he said, and she turned about, one brow curled ,confused. "And...well...my wife...She just tried to kill me these last few days...err...Do you have a boyfriend? Oh, uh...sorry...I just thought, maybe we could go have coffee, and you know, just chat...get to know each other a little better...well if we're both single now?"

Molly smiled..."No...no I don't have one...a boyfriend! Coffee...would be good. Ok!" she laughed.

* * *

><p>The paramedics tended very carefully to both Sherlock and John. And a few moments later, the two of them were racing down the sidewalk in wheelchairs, deducing passerby, and chatting with half a dozen said passerby who had witnessed today's events. The others had given up trying to keep up,and were trailing behind, their new friend Chief Honors, or Morgan as he had insisted they call him, being in company with them. Greg's officially as soon as the paperwork cleared ex-wife had been taken away with some of Mycroft's people, as Mycroft had decided it would be better to leave in quiet small groups, than in some mass-exodus that would cause suspicion. They had told the press all about a terrorist trying to light the Empire State Building on fire with people inside of it, but they had left the Exterminator and Sherlock Holmes bits out. Instead they gave all the glory to the NYPD ,to avoid security breaches and all of that, and everybody liked this best, the cops getting the respect and attention for their hard work they felt they deserved, and Sherlock and company getting the privacy and benefit of their hard work that they felt they deserved. Greg was walking side by side Molly and they were chatting pleasantly, deciding they rather liked each other and might like to go on a few dates to make up for how bad their recent romances had treated them. Sally and Anderson were still snickering about what they had done to Reilly, and then Anderson was excitedly waving his hands about and telling them all about Appledore. Major had his head buried in a travel guide, reading off all the restaurant chains, trying to pick the best one for them all, the decision being left up to him. He chewed his nails, "Ah, but they all look so good!"<p>

And then it came to him, as if by design. Sherlock had crashed into a trash-can, (speeding down the sidewalk when one really doesn't know how to pilot a wheel-chair,and also having serious vertigo from recently being poisoned, never being a good idea). He had toppled head first into the trash,and John was behind him, swiveling madly in his own chair, trying to peel him out of the can, and land him on the seat of his pants back in his chair.

Major rushed to their assistance, and by chance looked up to see a little street corner restaurant that said, "Taste of Home Bar and Grill" on the sign.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and said something snarky to Sherlock, who came up out of the trash can eyes bobbing about in his head like a sucker punched gold-fish. Molly discreetly came and plucked a banana peel off his head, putting it back in the can. John was laughing his head off, until he realized that he had accidentally somehow gotten gum from the trash can stuck on the wheels of his chair, and had to be plucked up out of it, chair and all, by the Major's great strength.

Greg, Sally,and Anderson all stepped back, taking in the scene. Major pointed. "Good God, this place SMELLS like heaven. I choose this one!" he cried, and Morgan was reciting the menu for him, telling him how much they were all gonna love it.

"We're...well...sorry about...your wife, Greg...All of this has been so crazy...I don't suppose anyone has remembered to care that it's been really bad for you..." Sally began, trying to find words for the moment.

Greg shook his head, "It's ok ,you know? I just realized something."

He clapped both arms over one of Sally's shoulders, and one of Anderson's.

"We're like our own little mixed nuts family ,you know?It's great! I'm content to be just...I don't know...one of us?"

Anderson smiled as they went into the restaurant, and looked over at Sally, who smiled back, thinking the same thing. All the BIG trouble was finally over. Things were going to be different now. A good different. He could feel it...

**The End~ **


	25. Epilouge

** Epilouge~**

Mrs. Hudson came tip toeing up the stairs, a brilliant smile spread across her face. It was peacefully quiet upstairs. Her boys were home, she wondered if they might be asleep?

They were rarely ever home anymore. But after they had been gone in New York for a few days, Mycroft had commanded them not to go anywhere or to do anything for at least 1 solid week. Sherlock had been fitted with an ankle bracelet, and was literally on house arrest (although John insisted it was more or less protective custody/ R and R, Mrs. Hudson was still convinced Sherlock had probably gotten himself in trouble again).

He and John hadn't left the flat in a week. A solid week. And to Mrs. Hudson's extreme surprise, Sherlock hadn't been driving them crazy,and hadn't actually needed the bracelet after all. Had actually been sleeping quite a bit, and sitting at the fire-place a lot , either playing his violin, or looking at his chemistry kit, and sometimes late in the evening, being sociable, and to her greatest surprise and delight, sitting and chatting for long hours with her and John. This week had been like a holiday even,having them both home, both alive and mostly unhurt (except John had poked a rather nasty hole in his hand, that he had to medicate regularly to avoid its being infected)

Tonight she found them both sitting on the settee, sharing one of her knitted blankets, watching telly, and eating Chinese take-out they'd had delivered to the doorstep.

John jabbed his chopsticks at the screen. " He can't do that! Bloody coward! "

"Please...he owns the shop. And he didn't technically DO anything...it's just a man playing a part..rather badly." Sherlock groaned, shaking his head, and taking a tremendous bite of an egg roll.

"What are you boys watching?" Mrs Hudson asked, coming to hover over the tv set, folding her hands.

"Rubbish." Sherlock said, or rather sort of groaned.

"The Paradise , Mrs. Hudson. It's a new period drama on the BBC." John answered, patiently.

"The shop owner is being unreasonable. And the acting is rather bad. And there's too much drama over picking boyfriends and girlfriends. I mean, please, the show revolves around a dress shop. It's not a life and death sort of thing; why is everyone so high-strung? Also, the old man bookkeeper will end up committing murder. I see all the signs..."

"Oh ,Sherlock. I have missed your telly critiquing. Ooh, but it's the Paradise! I love this show; may I sit?"

"Of course!" John cried, and Sherlock turned away from the screen, brows curled in an expression that could be captioned, "Really? You honestly have to ask; this is also your flat?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled, having missed him so terribly. This week was the first opportunity since his resurrection for her and John to really process having him back, living with them again. Just _living_ again. Sitting on the settee, rolling his eyes at the tv set, making observations that gave the whole episode away ...again.

As the credits began to roll, and a show announcer said something about next episode, Mrs. Hudson breathed a contented sigh and said,

"We're just SO very happy that you're back, Sherlock..."

John looked up, eyes gone moist by that comment, and nodded, a deliriously fond smile on his face. Sherlock paused, a chopstick full of noodles almost in his mouth.

"So...So am I." he said, smiling back.

Mrs. Hudson laughed, feeling a change in the him. Things were going to better now. Going to be different. She just knew.

Sherlock grabbed the remote control. "Alright, that was boring. Let's find something less boring to watch." he said, flipping the channels, accidentally landing on CNN.

"Oh, isn't that the Empire State Building in New York? Wonder what's going on there, looks like it was a mess, if you ask me...Bloody Americans-it was probably over money, you know they are rather fixated with money and what not..."

Sherlock and John exchanged a look, that silently debated whether they should tell the old woman or not. They decided against it.

"Oh, it was nothing Mrs. Hudson. A thief broke in, they'll forget about it in a matter of days! Ah, here's something interesting, " Ancient Egypt: Methods of Embalming"...

"Not the show for me!"Mrs. Hudson cried.

"You know, why don't we watch a DVD ?" John gasped, getting up to put one in.

"Silence of the Lambs?" Sherlock offered.

"Uh,,...nooooo..."

"It was thought provoking!"

" Mrs. Hudson needs her beauty sleep ,Sherlock! No, not Silence of the Lambs..."

John opened their DVD case ,and all said DVDs went spilling in the floor.

"Oh, alright. I already know what happens anyway. Just pick one that's not extremely boring..."Sherlock muttered, yawning.

Mrs. Hudson laughed. She looked forward to adventures ahead. But tonight, she was just going to enjoy sitting around the telly, and being boring with her boys. All was well at last, and she could draw a deep, laughing breath, sit back, and enjoy the show...


End file.
